


It's A Harder Fight

by AeriaSilence



Category: X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Alternate Universe, But Erik likes it about him, But he does get them, Charles can be ignorant and sometimes a bit childish, Charles doesn't have powers yet, Erik and Charles go through a lot in this, Erik is still with his mother, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, M/M, Optimistic Charles, Poor Charles, Protective Erik, World War II
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-12
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-08-30 15:44:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 94,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8538838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AeriaSilence/pseuds/AeriaSilence
Summary: Ignorance was a blessing, but in times like these, wars like these, Charles realized quickly that it wasn't meant to last. Not with his friend being tested in front of him. Not with his own mind being played with. Not when it seems every mistake was weighed to death. No, ignorance wasn't meant to last and if it did - perhaps then it would truly be a blessing. (eventual Cherik)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Author Note: Hello! This is my first fanfiction, and I admit I am not too good at writing now that I read this haha... I'm not super good at grammar and spelling is a hit or miss. Also, I want to point out that there is German in this story, but I don't know how accurate it is. It should only be in this chapter since eventually Charles learns enough to piece things together to English.
> 
> Things are a bit different in this story, too. I'm trying to follow what happens in canon (primarily the movies) but I wanted to change the times a bit to make things more coherent? I don't know if I succeeded haha so let me type out the gist of this below:
> 
> Erik isn't separated from his parents for one. Not immediately, anyhow. For one, you learn specifically about his family further on in the story - what happened to them - and he's still with his mum. He's in the Warsaw Ghetto, in case I was awful in my research and didn't describe it well enough. I go into more detail about it in the later chapters. But he's still with his mum and if I had to guess what year it was, I would say 1940-ish since the U.S. hasn't changed their Neutralization Act due to Pearl Harbor. It's before Auschwitz was even made, if my research serves me right, and there is a reason for this later on. Besides him not being separated from his parents immediately, everything else should remain the same.
> 
> Charles is a bit different from the movie as well. We never got to see what truly happened to him in the movie, so I got to run away with my imagination haha... I won't spoil anything else of my own story though. :)
> 
> I hope you enjoy?
> 
> If you recognize the fandom, I definitely don't own it.

**Chapter 1**

At first, Charles was fairly certain that he would hate Poland.

World War two was raging high and things seemed to be differing farther and farther from what they should just be always: equal and together. Placing people against their neighbors, friends, and family simply because of looks or religion? The boy wasn't so naïve as to think that any of this was right and didn't involve him. Events like this affected the world and if the allies planning attack after strategic onslaught against the axis was anything to go by, it was going to be an awful result. In wars like these? It didn't really matter who won because the consequences weighed on everyone's shoulders once you consider exactly what could have been prevented.

But he was getting ahead of himself. Charles at that time wasn't aware of any of this. All he knew was that a war was going on, a terrible one at that, and that he had to move to be closer to it.

It was for family business purposes. At least, that was what his father told him when he questioned why he was being taken out of his private schooling. Charles didn't know if his father was moving simply to side in this treacherous war, or whether he was going there for another reason. All he did know was that when your father was a nuclear scientist, as his father loved to praise, any involvement that came with the title didn't end well.

Being an only child, however, Charles didn't bother putting up a fuss for something his father clearly wanted to do. It wasn't becoming of him. It wasn't what he was supposed to do nor was it how he was supposed to act. A scientist's son? He was to act smart, biting, sarcastic, and utterly respectful in the best and worst situations life could throw at him.

That was what his mother taught him early on.

_"A disrespectful man doesn't earn the respect of those he converses with, Charles. And a man who is overcome with manners will always retain the high ground above those who choose the lesser path."_ Her words rang with a sharpness only reserved for teaching lessons and judgement of those around her. She was a mother, not quite a mum. He could talk to a mum about his misfortunes and thoughts. In a mother's eye he was to remain impeccable without any connections.

Another reason for his silence and quiet brooding.

The travel it took to get to Poland was turmoil between several checkpoints. Some were American. Some were English. Some were of a country he hardly knew at all. Either way, their passports were stamped, approved, and they were sent on their way to Warsaw as easy as if a war wasn't going on. His father remained in good spirits, staring in the distance with thoughts of nuclear experiments perhaps. His mother glance turned disinterested against the cloudy countenance of protruding gray storms brimming on the horizon. Charles himself remained quiet and wondered what they were both thinking.

Were they different people then their looks give? Was his mother a loving individual who wanted nothing more than his happiness and wellbeing? Was his father maniacal and terribly off-kilter to the point that he was unstable? Were looks simply all that the word implied?

Sometimes, Charles secretly hoped he could read minds so he could understand the two people how have been around him all his life. But that was silly. Ridiculous. It couldn't be possible.

…

_Daily Herald_

_Monday, September 4, 1939_

_**WAR DECLARED BY BRITAIN AND FRANCE** _

_THE FLEET MOVES INTO POSITION_

_Great Britain declared war on Germany at 11 o'clock yesterday morning._

_Six hours later, at 5 p.m., France declared war._

_Britain's resolution to defend Poland against Nazi aggression was described by the newly-formed Ministry of Information in one of its first announcements, as follows: -_

_"At 11:15 this morning (Sunday) Mr. R. Dunbar, Head of the Treaty Department of the Foreign Office, went to the German Embassy, where he was received by Dr. Kordt, the Charge d'Affaires._

_"Mr. Dunbar handed to Dr. Kordt a notification that a state of war existed between Great Britain and Germany as from 11 o'clock B.S.T. this morning. This notification constituted the formal declaration of war."_

…

Sometimes, Charles wondered what would occur if he was not born into a wealthy family. One with a scientist as a father and a status keeper as his mother. Would he have been joined the Royal Navy in their attempts against the Germans? Against Hitler himself?

Would grime, blood, sweat, and tears grace his uniform as comrades died in his eyesight and bullets strayed and randomly hit their targets – sometimes purposefully and sometimes forlornly? To be honest, Charles didn't know if he had it in him. His father would not have allowed him, he feared, no matter how much his pride may strike him. He could strategize. Yes, that was what he was known for. He could scheme and manipulate and do quite well in anything with a mental backstory to it, but anything physically had Charles at a disadvantage.

He liked to picture himself in the uniform. Carrying the rightful weapons of interest and holding the weight and honor of the Her Majesty herself.

But he wasn't and he wouldn't be one of these people. He was instead stuck in a small flat-like house in a district in Warsaw. The windows were cloudy like the rest of the city, and the floors and walls were dusty. Nothing a day of cleaning could fix, if his mother allowed him such at task.

_"That's what we have servants for, Charles."_ His mother tended to say every time he tried to make himself a meal, or when he attempted to get himself ready for a school day. In reality, he was more than capable of being independent, but as long as his mother's keen eye was watching him, it wouldn't be possible.

He was as free as a bird in a bird cage. A metal bird cage not allowing the smallest of feathers to escape.

…

The day he met Erik was a day like no other in retrospect. It could ultimately be described as one of those days that he would never forget. A blip of light in the otherwise murky setting of his distant past.

The best part was that it was entirely by _mistake_.

As a Xavier, Charles wasn't allowed to make mistakes. It was frowned upon. So the boy often refrained from such actions and took precarious caution with every step he ever took.

Except for this one, fateful day.

If he were to be honest? It was the best mistake he could have made.

His mother was in the middle of entertaining some high-class aristocrat in their home, servants bustling around with solemn expressions as they fetched wine and fragile glasses only polished with as much as his mother used them. He wasn't in there with them. _Grown up business, Charles._

So he left the house. He couldn't stand the suffocating perfume they drowned themselves in anyways. The hats that appeared like dead birds fitting to their awful heads and sneering expressions powdered far too deeply for any aesthetic liking. It was like looking at marble statues put together by Picasso and not for any praise of the art.

The ground clicked against his loafers as each heel met nothing more than cold stone. Everything here was cold. Not only literally but figuratively as well between the ghastly people and the solemn persona they preached through haunted eyes. Their lips were always thinned in fear. Their hair always frail and unkempt as if finding the effort worthless. Charles wondered what went on in their head, too. What did they imagine was waiting for them? Did they think the Germans would invade this city, too?

He didn't know.

Charles didn't meet many of their eyes, and it wasn't for lack of trying. Every so often he would meet the gaze of some passerby and offer a kind smile, but their response was always an expression so stricken it was as if kindness was a death sentence. _A weakness._

He tried to not let it get to him. Most days it was easy.

Today was not one of those days.

After the third face telling him that smiling was not what he should be doing, Charles could feel his face that his mother told him to keep fixated slip. His lips were beginning to thin like those around him and his eyes burned with an emotion he couldn't even begin to show because of pride and status. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to breathe and it hurt to look at children and adults alike giving him looks as if he was an outsider that didn't understand.

He already knew that. He didn't need unsaid words to match what he already knew. He didn't need the added certainty.

Charles didn't realize he was frantically running through the streets of Warsaw until he felt his hair lift and fall with each forced wind. His eyes stung, but his feet never faltered. He could have cared less about muddy puddles staining his trousers or how his kept hair was becoming untidy and falling in his face. He could care less about _looks_ entirely.

By the time he stopped, he was panting and his heart was racing. Had he raced a horse? Did he participate in a competition of running? It sure felt like it. He couldn't remember the last time he felt the need to do what he just did.

The need to _escape._

There were no men – German soldiers he hears often – in dark green uniforms. There wasn't any rubble from where he heard whispers of bombs. He had never seen them, but he heard they were awful. He had never seen this much rubble and broken buildings back home. It frightened him a little.

But here there wasn't any of these. It was almost… normal.

Now, he had no idea where he was. Yes, logically, he knew he was still in Warsaw. There was no way in human nature for someone to somehow run out of a city in less than thirty seconds unless they were a super hero! Which, sadly, he wasn't.

Leaning against a building wall, he stared up and furrowed his brows at the abnormally large wall protruding his vision. It was dark and looming and seemed to have a bridge connecting the two parts of it on either side of the street. If Charles tilted his head further, he could vaguely make out other buildings. Buildings that were in horrible states as he could see small patches in the roof as well as broken windows. What was this place? Where had his feet taken him?

Curiosity got the best of him. Charles couldn't help inching closer and closer to the cold wall. When he finally was in front of it, he placed his ear against it, hoping to hear something. It might be vain, yes, but he truly wanted to know if anyone lived there. In this place? It seemed impossible.

"Hello?" He asked out loud, keeping an eye out for any passersby. Oddly so, there weren't any. It seemed they all disappeared, or maybe they completely avoided this place.

He cleared his throat and tried again. "Hello? Is anyone there?"

For a while, there was nothing. It was quiet and it seemed like a response and any signs of anyone even living was gone. Giving a small sigh, Charles closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wall.

Of course there wouldn't be anyone in there! That would be silly. What are you even thinking, Charles? If mother caught you here she would tear you a new one with your look and disrespectful attitude!

"H-Hello?"

Charles blinked and immediately placed both of his hands against the cold, mist covered wall. He strained to hear any signs of the voice he just heard because there definitely was a voice. At least a moment of it! He wasn't mental. He knew what he heard and it was a boy. A boy like him, perhaps?

"Hello? Is there anyone there?" He asked tentatively, not wanting to scare the new arrival.

"Ah… you… speak English?" The accent was incredibly thick. So thick that it was clear English wasn't his first language. German from the sounds of it. There was plenty to go around from what he had heard since he got here.

"Yes! Do you?"

"Not much. Ein bisschen." _A little._

To be honest, Charles didn't know much German. He knew certain words more than others, but he was still in the middle of his tutoring on the subject. He couldn't speak fluently and surely not as well as the next native! Still, he didn't want to lose this boy simply because of a language barrier.

"Um. Wie heißen Sie?" He hoped he didn't butcher that (Especially on something like asking what the boy's name was!) and for a second, when the silence persisted, he thought that he might have.

"Erik."

Charles was grinning brightly. "Fantastic! Um. You can call me Charles."

"Charles?"

"Ja!" He exclaimed, giddiness taking over him despite the solemnity of the tone the boy had as well as the people he had seen prior. Everything seemed forgotten at this moment. "Warum bist du da drin?"

The wall was huge. So huge it seemed like it wanted to hide a secret. Why could the boy be in there?

"Der Krieg." _The war._

Charles excitement dimmed at the phrase and he sighed. "Well, my friend, that is unfortunate." He didn't know if his friend understood what he said, but he was almost positive that he could sense the emotion in it and didn't take it kindly. Next time he spoke, his voice had chilled over to a certain coldness and Charles could feel the link wanting to break.

"I don't want your pity."

Charles bit his lip before replying bitingly. "Well, for a boy who says he doesn't speak much English, you seem to know more than you let on." _Stop it, Charles. This isn't respectful in the slightest._ His mother's voice sliced into his mind and he took a deep breath. Right. He had to remain level headed. He should have expected the reaction. "I'm sorry. I was out of turn. Can you tell me how much English you know? It would make conversing much easier."

"I know small phrases. Greetings. Enough to make do." The voice was dull, no doubt affected by Charles' earlier tone.

"I see. Hm." He sat down on the stone path, something Charles mother would screech into disbelief if she caught him doing, and leaned his head against the wall. "How about a… compromise? Do you know that word? I think the similar word is… Kompromiss. Forgive me, my friend. I know as much German as you do English." He laughed heartily and heard a small chuckle on the other side of the wall.

It was still quite an eerie thing. This place that held Erik so resolutely and distant. It was as if it was a separation of morals, two lives, a different fate even. Charles wasn't quite sure what to make of it. It seemed as if there was a darker power at the hands of the place Erik had found himself to be. If the buildings and their destitution didn't alert him, then the tone he carried did. It was solemn and terrible to the heart.

There was a hidden agony in his voice. Something Charles didn't want to prod at but truly wanted to understand. Which, in truth, was probably incredibly foolish. He had only just met the boy today! They hadn't even conversed longer than fifteen minutes.

"Charles?"

"Hm? Yes?"

"You said you had a… compromise. What is it?"

"Ah! Right!" Charles cleared his throat and allowed a momentary grin to grace his features. "If I learn more German, learned to be fluent at it, will you be here every day to speak with me?"

It took a while to respond. Charles wasn't sure if it was because Erik was translating his English or if he was giving it some thought. He hoped it was a mixture of both, for that at least meant he was contemplating it.

"Why?"

Charles didn't have a reason for the why. He couldn't think of a really good reason besides one. "Because I… find your company, however brief, pleasant. Nice if you will. And I was hoping that, perhaps, we could be friends?"

"Friends. Freunde." Erik repeated this so quietly that Charles had to strain his ears to hear a single bit of it. "Yes. When?"

Charles looked up and tried to gauge what time it was. Usually, he had a watch he would wear, but in his haste to escape a crowd too fake to be ever given an ounce of reality, he had forgotten it on his end table. If he were to go by the clouds, and what light they allowed to pass through, it had to be about noon. Maybe an hour after.

"When the sun is at its highest? Noon?" Charles tried to put it as simply as he could, but he realized quickly it was rather difficult and hoped that Erik understood enough.

"Mittag. Like now?" Charles wanted to nod excitedly, but quickly realized Erik wouldn't know if he had. He couldn't see him.

"Exactly like right now!" He beamed brightly instead. "Every day we will meet right here. No exceptions! Jeder von ihnen!" His tongue kept on moving and moving, faster than the speed of light as he continued to ramble on nonsense to this boy he just met. It was just so exciting! Making a friend. His first friend since he came here.

His words did slow down as his rational came to him.

But, even though the boy didn't seem to recoil from him and his words, Charles didn't want to scare him away or use so much English that he was overwhelmed. His mother embedded manners into him for a reason. _Manners make a man, Charles. If you lack these, you are no better than criminals, savages, and beasts of nature. Manners separate you and make you the person you are._

Charles sometimes wondered if his mother wrote a book on manners. Just another thought that added to the endless questions he held for her and his father.

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he slowed down his speech and spoke clearly when he said his next thought.

"Ah, but I understand if you can't. You probably have family, too, as do I. We have duties and... I'm sure there are things that need to be done. But… let's try our best to be here, okay?"

Silence then "Okay. I can try, Charles. Noon."

A smile broke out onto Charles's face when Erik said his name. It sounded thick and important when it rolled off his tongue. He felt like a "cheeky little thing" as the servants seemed to call him on his good days, and he couldn't find the words to argue it. He was practically on Cloud Nine and he couldn't be brought down from the exhilarating excitement and happiness that came with talking to the strange boy behind the tall, ominous wall.

Even though he was saddened slightly to say goodbye to him, he couldn't help the little skip in his step on the way home.

When he walked into the doors, even his mother's terrible screams and pinching of the cheek couldn't have deterred his mood. Even as he was scolded to the point criminals would be ashamed, he couldn't help but look forward to the next day when he would see the boy, Erik. He looked forward to it. For once in a while, he actually… had someone to talk to.

That alone kept him in good thoughts in his slumber as the questions of the wall and what occurred behind it came to his subconscious.

…

_Daily Herald_

_September 4th, 1939_

_**London Hears Its First Raid Warning** _

_London was calm yesterday when it heard its first air raid warning. This is the official statement issued by the Air Ministry: -_

_At 11:30 a.m. yesterday an aircraft was observed approaching the South Coast._

_As its identity could not be readily determined an air-raid warning was given._

_**BLACK-OUT TIME TO-NIGHT –7.40…** _

…

Each day thereafter, Charles would bound out of bed, ready for a new conversation, a new world. His tutor would come by at 07:30 promptly and seemed to be impressed by Charles's new eagerness in the language and learning it.

It was a bit funny really. The late-adult thought it was maybe the thirst for knowledge, like the one his father was known for, but that was not the case.

Charles liked to think he understood his father and all the science words that came with him, but all he knew was that the man was very smart – and that apparently he was, too. He knew enough to get by with talking to him, but the second it went into "nuclear" territory, Charles was as lost as possible.

So, thirst for knowledge definitely wasn't the cause for this new bounce of ambition.

No, it was the fact that Charles had made a compromise, one he intended to keep until it was impossible to do so any longer. When he made a promise, he was serious about it – almost like it was a death sentence against his loyalty and honor. It made him feel almost like a knight made to keep his word. A lot better sounding than being as stubborn child.

And if that meant listening to 3 hour lessons of tedious languages and German etiquette by a strange man in green uniform and cap then so be it. He wanted to talk to Erik freely and completely – not choppily cut off between English and German.

On Erik's part, he was extremely patient. He would politely correct Charles's grammar and words if they seemed to be wrong, or chuckled softly and would repeat what ridiculousness spouted out of Charles mouth instead of a simple "How was your day?" Once Charles mispronounced a few words to where he talked about a rabbit named Erik rather than asking him what he did that day. Erik never let him live it down and would tease Charles with "rabbit Charles" throughout the conversation.

It was refreshing. The teasing and joking and soft talk of what was going on around them. Nice and different than the solemn faces and the unstable atmosphere his home seemed to grow steadily.

The conversations only got better each day. It seemed as if they would talk more and more than the day previous. For the moment it was only small things. Erik being good at making things with his hands, Charles knack for guessing what others were thinking, the sun, the stars, everything that didn't touch them specifically.

Safe subjects. Subjects that didn't produce discomfort or awkward silence.

Never had they touched upon the subject of the wall or why Erik was seemingly stuck behind it. The first time Charles broached the subject, Erik shut down and refused to speak until Charles was frantically begging for the boy to speak up, apologizing profusely for his rudeness. Ever since then, Charles carefully skirted around the subject. It was clearly touchy.

They didn't talk about family either. On either sides really. It wasn't to keep anything from him, Charles concluded to himself quietly on his way home one day, but a subject that had to wait until Charles was better at speaking. Charles intuition was an odd thing, but on this fact it didn't seem to be disagreeing with him.

And, eventually, his efforts paid off. His vocabulary got a lot better and in turn his ability to make sentences and understand them. He wasn't a professional, not even close (half of his understanding the language was still entirely guesswork honestly), but Erik seemed to have deemed his German well after a month or two. Or, at least, that was what Charles concluded. Otherwise, why would he have told him all he did? All that he… kept for so long while the ignorant boy wished aimlessly for Erik to be more open.

He should have been careful for what he wished for.

Truly so. His mother always told him not to prod. He should have listened to her.

The day he learned about the shadows of Warsaw were one of the worst days for Charles. Much like meeting Erik was easily one of his best mistakes, wishing for more knowledge, to know more in general, felt like the worst. Asking too much. Asking far too specifically. He should have been careful, but what did he know at that age? He was but a kid who knew nothing of the world and yet sensed everything was not good at all.

It started off with Charles's tutor yelling at his father that morning as Charles descended the stairs. It was harsh and seemed to drain the color from his father's face more and more, whatever the man was saying. Charles tried to understand it, but it was spoken too fast for him to understand. All he could pick out was "job" and "failure," both which seemed to cause years to age his father's form.

When his father caught sight of him, he quickly cut off the man with a "Later on. Not now," and told Charles to go out for a stroll. There would be no tutorials today. He didn't have to guess why.

He tried to ignore his mother's prayers as he walked out, her eyes blank but glossy as she stared emptily outside the window. Charles had an inkling of a feeling that his mother knew more than everyone gave her credit for, and a part of him wanted to sit next to her quietly, head bowed, and see if she would share her insight. But she wouldn't. A woman's role was to be quiet and unheard (that was what he heard a lot of men say. He didn't really believe it), something his mother was well at, even in the worst times.

He supposed this moment was one of those times.

His mother usually never prayed – not quite the religious sort – but the expression in her eyes were wishing for it to work the one time she did it. Charles didn't know if it would.

He didn't really trust miracles too much, anyways.

The people were ghostly that day. Pale. Skeleton-jutted bones that were shadowed with sallow cheeks and dark bags under the eyes. No smiles. Not even a grimace. They all seemed empty. Shells that lost their souls. It was frightening to see, terrible to experience, and a fear Charles began to cave into – the fear that he may become one of them.

He was almost tempted to run again. To outrun their sad faces and their shuffling feet and their dread that wanted to soak every ounce of happiness Charles had managed to keep thus far. He almost wanted to outrun all of it again and only his pride kept his feet to a walk.

He wished one of them would express emotion. Just one. Enough to show that maybe the whole city wasn't being drained of life. He even attempted smiling, something that always got the greatest variety of reactions, but nothing changed in their dead eyes.

All they did was stare ahead but not seeing. Occasionally they would look behind them or around them in the general direction of the wall that Erik was. It was telling but Charles didn't know what to make of it. Was something going on? Was something wrong?

As he made his way to the wall, he spotted something he never saw before. A man in uniform. It was dark green and his face was stoic. He seemed to be talking at the place Charles usually sat waiting for Erik. Hiding behind the corner, he watched as the man muttered words too faint for Charles to translate, before leaving, walking under the bridge and down the street that led away from the wall.

Charles hesitantly crept forward, eventually leaning his ear against the wall, straining his hearing to get anything. Just something to tell him that Erik was there. For some reason, the soldier gave Charles a bad vibe, and the boy wanted nothing more than to confirm his friend was okay.

"Hello? Erik?" He whispered, fearing of speaking any louder. The German, thankfully, came easy to him at this point, his mind automatically translating the best it could. Or at least the phrases and most words that he forced his head to memorize.

"I'm here, Charles." But the voice was frail. It was so weak and quiet and almost as uncertain as the first day Charles had talked to Erik. "But perhaps you shouldn't be."

"And why not?" Charles replied, controlling his voice just barely so he wouldn't exclaim it. "We always meet here. It was our compromise, remember?"

"Yes, I do. I don't regret it, but I don't think it should be continued any further. It's… too dangerous for you." Then, softly. "And I don't think I'll be here much longer."

Hearing those last words made Charles's heart ache dearly. It was like a knife had stabbed his heart and he found it difficult to breathe. As difficult as when he ran the first time he came here. His breath seemed shallow and quick. It was uncomfortable but he couldn't seem to stop himself.

Was this the fear that his father felt back home? It felt like it. A fear so striking that Charles felt more like an adult than a 15-year-old boy.

"What do you mean? Please, my friend, speak to me. Talk to me. You can tell me anything," Charles begged, hoping to break through the solid resolve Erik seemed to have.

Silence met his ears and for the longest minute, or maybe more, Charles almost felt as if Erik had walked away from the wall, leaving him in his place.

But then he heard a soft sigh and the scrape against the wall signifying Erik sliding down to sit on the ground. Charles quickly followed suit, not trusting his legs to keep him up.

He couldn't lose Erik. He was his only friend! He learned so much from him and for him. He was the reason Charles wasn't losing his soul like the populace around him. The reason why he wasn't losing his mind. Losing Erik at this point was like losing a part of him, a deeply rooted part of him. Charles wouldn't be able to handle it, not at this point when he seemed to know the boy even though he had never seen him.

"You've refrained from asking about the wall. I know it's because you don't want to prod, to trigger me I suppose."

Charles said nothing, merely listening.

"This wall is an awful thing, but the place it hides is even worse, Charles, you must understand that. It is the epitome of death and prison. Nothing could compare to what I have seen with my own eyes, what we have seen."

"We?" The worried boy spoke quietly.

"My mother and I. My _mutter_ , she is not well. She is sickly, yet there is no way for me to obtain medicine for her. I've been attempting to smuggle in anything to help her, but the guards watch too closely now. We've already had so many incidents here already. It seems now they have on a schedule and work."

"What do you do?"

"Anything they want us to," He responded gravely. "Anything and everything. I could tell you, Charles, and if I survive after today, I might just do that. But not today. Not right now. I wouldn't be able to stop if I opened my mind to you, so please do me a favor and don't prod."

Charles wanted to ask why, but he couldn't find the words. His entire concentration was on translating and he didn't trust his tongue to act without his brain controlling his words.

"Do you know what this place is? Why people seem to walk around your streets one day and then go missing the next? Why it seems that everyone is so depressed? Tell me, friend, do you ponder these thoughts every time you come to see me? If you say you don't, then I know you are lying to me. I don't have to see your face or read your mind to sense your curiosity.

"This place is called a… ghetto. Those were the words I hear muttered across what is left of us. We are prisoners for being what we are. The scapegoat that seemed to cause this war."

"What are you?"

"Jewish, mainly. Criminals to everyone else."

"But that makes no sense. You're in this terrible place just because of your-"

"Yes, Charles. Exactly that. Our religion, beliefs, and morals have placed us all here. That's why people go missing… are missing… sometimes permanent and sometimes not. We are doomed not to survive. The weak are tossed out and the strong remain until they are weak as well. Between starvation and being killed for suspicion of smuggling and disobedience, it's a cycle and I fear for my life at this moment." He paused and quietly muttered. "I think the people outside these walls may be depressed because they sense it. They sense a shower of metal coming."

"Shower of metal?" Charles questioned in confusion.

"Not a good one I assure you. Deadly," Erik responded sadly before sighing. "I don't wish to tell you more Charles. Just because I am a prisoner in these walls doesn't mean you have to be alongside me in spirit."

"But I am, Erik." The words came out of Charles's mouth quicker than he could have thought them out. It was second-nature. He didn't need to hesitate to say this with absolute certainty.

"You don't know what you're saying."

"I do," He insisted urgently. "I do, Erik. I was with you then and I will be with you now. In spirit, in thought, in… in memory. I will be here for you. It isn't fair for a friend to suffer alone. If I can help carry the some of the bad things you are going through, then I will immediately if I can. Please, realize this. You are my friend, Erik. You are what I care for first. You always have been and, I promise you, you always will be. And right now?" He took a deep breath. "That means being with you through all this."

He felt brave saying this. He wasn't used to being so bold in what he says. Sure, he tended to be stubborn, but he didn't like to step over the boundaries set for him unless he had to. For some reason, this seemed one of those times. At least, his heart and head told him so.

There was a sort of stunned silence that followed and Charles waited anxiously for the reply, hoping he didn't go overboard.

Then he heard it. The slow exhale of breath that seemed far too shaky, far too unstable for the boy who seemed to speak of death calmly and with a sense of dread just a moment ago.

His voice, stronger before, had faltered back to weak whispers. Fragile words that seemed to be made of glass that Charles was far too afraid to touch, to break, to lose.

Was this his vulnerability? Charles didn't know what to do. Should he say comforting words, apologize, or remain silent? He never had a friend cry in front of him. He didn't want to do anything wrong. Not at this moment when the words would be weighed the most.

But he didn't have to make the decision. After a second, Erik spoke.

"Thank you, Charles. Thank you so much." The words were slightly shaky and the faint sniffles coming from the other side of the wall made the tears Charles kept behind his eyes follow quickly after – the exhaustion of being held back quickly wearing out.

If he was at home, his mother would scold him for showing weakness. Crying was not something a man took part in. But, shouldn't they be allowed to every once in a while? Men were not rocks. They didn't let emotions roll off of them. It was silly.

Or maybe Charles was an exception, as he usually was, and a cry baby at heart.

He didn't know.

What he did know was that he wasn't alone like this. On the other side of the wall sat Erik, probably in the same position with the same trickle of tears rolling down his face from each stress and anger and frustration that came from their separate lives. He wasn't alone and it made crying feel so much better than if he had waited to do so at home, where his mum was always cradling a glass of wine and his father was nowhere to be seen.

Charles never asked what Erik meant by not living long. He didn't think he would be able to stand the answer if he heard it.

The finality of the goodbye scared Charles to the point of not sleeping that night, causing one of the few servants who cared for him to go downstairs and fetch him a warm cup of milk and a book to read. The boy didn't want to read that night, though. He wanted to figure out a way to release Erik, and his mum, from that wall, from the horrors they dealt with.

Charles moved around restlessly, the emotions eating at him from the inside of his heart once he realized with quivering sadness that there was absolutely nothing he could do.

Nothing but hope and wishing for the best.

Which, at that moment, seemed absolutely worthless.

…

_"We must take sides. Neutrality helps the oppressor, never the victim. Silence encourages the tormentor, never the tormented. Sometimes we must interfere. When human lives are endangered, when human dignity is in jeopardy, national borders and sensitivities become irrelevant. Wherever men and women are persecuted because of their race, religion, or political views, that place must - at that moment - become the center of the universe."_

_**― Elie Wiesel, The Night Trilogy: Night, Dawn, the Accident** _

…


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tutorials were cut off the next morning as well. It wasn't a surprise at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am going to try not to post many chapter notes since there isn't much to explain unless it's such a huge shift that there may be some confusion, but I hope you all are liking the story so far. I hope to post another chapter on FF.net tonight and so you will get both 2 and 3 on here when I finish the editing. 
> 
> Warning: Mostly a plot-filler chapter I think. At least, it seems like it

Tutorials were cut off the next morning as well. It wasn't a surprise at all.

Charles didn't say anything as he shuffled downstairs, though. His thoughts were elsewhere, far away from his home and whatever seemed to be controlling it. He hadn't looked in the mirror, but he was certain there were dark shadows under his eyes over the fretting he had done.

Was Erik okay? Was he alive? Did…Did that shower of metal, whatever it was, get to him ( _and why did he even call it a shower of metal instead of saying what it was exactly?_ )? Would he be at the wall when Charles went today? Charles didn't know any of these answers, but he had a feeling the tutor who usually taught him German knew more than he was letting on.

It was just a feeling he had. Something that tugged incessantly at him. He could just feel the restraint of information when he looked at him. It was like something was prodding at his head, poking at it, knocking on it like a door to be let in. It was hard to explain, but he knew what his thoughts were saying were true.

Then again, he had been feeling the tugging notion for quite a while now. It just started getting worse recently, though, especially with Erik in his thoughts.

For the umpteenth time since he came home the day before, Charles wanted to be able to peer into the tutor's mind, figure out what he knew and why his father was so terrified of the words he spoke vehemently.

As the servants served him his breakfast, he noticed he was alone at the table. His mother was nowhere in sight; he hadn't even seen her when he crossed the hallway. Every room was empty. Perhaps she was still resting? Highly unlikely. She didn't like sleeping in. Manners and etiquette as always.

Quietly eating his breakfast, Charles wondered what he was going to do today. That was, if Erik… wasn't there. Nobody knew that he knew him and… if he was in that ghetto, there was no way they could even hold a proper burial for him where Charles could pay his respects. Or Erik's mum for that matter… Oh god, what would she feel right now? Losing a son? He could barely process losing Erik, but it must be multiplied by a tenfold with her.

If Charles wasn't holding a fork in one hand and a knife in the other, he might have slapped his face to clear his head of such dark thoughts. He was becoming one of the soulless husks that wander Warsaw – beings he swore he would never become. Erik once told him that he took a liking to Charles because he sounded friendly, nice and optimistic in this world where it seemed almost foolish to be. It was refreshing for him.

Losing the part that he liked most was almost similar to betraying him. Charles couldn't let his thoughts turn so dark and sour so fast. He had to remain hopeful, that Erik had survived whatever he feared would happen.

After all, he was strong. Charles knew this. For all that he has dealt with, he must be strong and cunning. There must be a chance – and a strong one, however, foolish to believe – that he survived. He had lived on so far; certainly, he must have lasted through this as well, correct?

Charles didn't know how much of that was logic and how much was hopeful wishing. They both seemed one and the same to him.

Breakfast was finished quickly and Charles was beginning to make his way upstairs when he heard his father's voice. It was faint but he could hear the desperation in the tone almost clear as day.

What was happening? Who was his father talking to? Family? Friends? His tutor possibly? Something awful must be occurring, but Charles couldn't fathom what it could be save for another disaster of this war. Invasion into another city? The questions were possibly endless and Charles didn't appreciate that in the slightest. He liked a certainty when he could achieve it.

Charles wanted to get closer to the conversation.

He shouldn't. He knew he shouldn't. It wasn't what his mother taught him, and if she caught him she would grab him by the ear and send him to his room. Eavesdropping was not something he should be doing. It wasn't becoming of his person. He should be getting past these urges at this age…

But he couldn't help it in the long run.

Keeping an eye on the creaky wood boards he had learned long ago, he silently crept up to his father's study where the voice was coming from. Leaning against the wall, an ear to its paper thin wall, Charles realized there was more than one voice in there. There were three in particular. Two native German speakers and his father's. It was weird hearing them speak in English after hearing German for so long with Erik, but that made understanding easier at least. He recognized the stern voice of his tutor but the other one was new. It sounded scratchy – maybe elderly? He couldn't know for certain.

Charles strained to listen closely, trying to decipher the subject matter.

"Give me one more week. One more week and I promise it will be done. I have the plans right here-!"

"We are done with waiting, Xavier," the tutor interrupted harshly. "You have told us it was almost done for a month now. No more. We want it by tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? I… That's not enough time! Simply not enough. I _told_ you a month ago that I had the project idea on a blueprint but that I would need the materials. You had failed to give me such materials until recently."

"Because half your materials are unrealistic and in areas we simply cannot extract from with our resources. You should have thought it through and accommodated to our schedule and resources instead of running off with your imagination."

"Wilhelm."

The scratchy voice was speaking now. "Xavier, Wilhelm is correct. We need this weapon immediately to ensure our success. The Americans have remained out of the war for this long, but it is uncertain when they will enter. They've claimed neutrality it seems, but depending on our actions it may change. We simply cannot allow the United Kingdom and its allies to side with America. Now is the prime time to strike. It is a little unnerving that you lack the weapon we need."

"I understand, but I said give me another week. They cannot assemble everything in a week. It's physically impossible. One more. That is all I ask. I have found the materials and I swear it will be done. On my life and loyalty to your cause."

Charles didn't like those words. He usually said the same when he made a promise, but he knew, in this case, they took a literal meaning – more literal than he would have liked.

What exactly was this cause? A good one? Bad? He could never tell with his father. It wasn't because he was not there or missing. The man wasn't a bad father, but he was more of a studious scientist than a father to the boy. Each time Charles was curious of his work, it would always be fiercely protective and proclaimed as _"secret"_ or _"not for your eyes, Charles"_ as if it would burn his sight.

This time it seemed his _"secret"_ business was growing towards lethal. The idea set a cold lump of dread in the pit of Charles's stomach.

"On your life, Xavier? Are you sure that is wise? You do have a wife and child. If you swear upon your life, you are willingly swearing theirs as well I hope you realize. Think carefully before you make such a declaration," the scratchy voice warned.

"I shouldn't have to think of where my loyalties lie," his father said firmly, but Charles couldn't be as certain as him. It seemed like they were walking into a trap. Like they were tiny mice entering a field of mouse traps, waiting for that inevitable _snap._ "I lay down my life as well as theirs. This project shall be done within a week. You have my entire word."

There was silence for a little bit before the tutor exclaimed something in German – something Charles hadn't learned but he assumed it to be a curse word – before continuing, "Are you believing this man so easily? He has delayed the project this long. How do we know he isn't lying to us?"

"Do you take me to be a liar, Wilhelm? A man not of my word?" There was that dangerous tone of voice. It was frightening. Charles had never once been on the receiving end of the tone, but those who had often shrank in afterthought. He had no doubt that Wilhelm was doing the same for he never gave a retort.

"Of course not, Xavier," The scratchy voice smoothed over. "We just question if your time frame is going to be allocated to the project or to something consequential."

There was a heavy silence that even had Charles holding his breath.

"The project will be done. A week. Certainly. Is that all you have come to do?"

Charles only had a moment to busy himself with looking at the bookshelf across the door before the door slammed open and his tutor, Wilhelm, stormed past in an angry fury of disbelief. Attempting to not be seen by his father, he maneuvered himself to be slightly hidden by the open door.

"Xavier, one last thing."

"Yes. What is it?"

"If you do not finish this project in a weeks' time," the scratchy voice paused to cough. Once. Twice. Three times. "We will come to retrieve those close to you. If the project is given to us after that, our association with you will be terminated. Is that understood?"

Charles didn't have to look through the crack in the door to know that his father more than likely lost a few shades of color. "Yes. Completely."

A few seconds later the man who owned the scratchy voice walked out unsteadily, using a cane to help guide his way.

"Where is that Captain America when you need him?" he heard his father mutter lowly before sighing. Charles began to make his way around the door and out of the vicinity.

"Charles."

Or perhaps not.

Sometimes Charles wanted to sigh at all his rotten luck.

"I know you are there. Please come in here."

Refusing to allow his head to fall, his eyes to go to the floor, Charles met his father's gaze steadily as he walked in. He didn't utter a word, only narrowing his eyes as his father seem to age before his eyes, gray hairs appearing where there were previously none.

"Close the door and have a seat there."

He did as he was told and sat in the armchair opposite to his fathers. There was a coffee table between their chairs that had blueprints for some missile-looking object with the scratchy handwriting of his father's messy scrawl. No doubt this was what his father was making. What he hasn't been, more like.

"How much of that did you hear?"

Charles pondered whether to tell the truth or not, but seeing no harm in his answer, he responded honestly, "Since you first began asking for one more week on your project."

"So almost all of it," his father smiled ruefully, chuckling without humor. "Well, I suppose I have to explain things to you now since I have officially dragged your mother and yourself into my business that I wanted to keep you both separate from. It is impossible now. You've definitely heard the threat given otherwise your hands wouldn't be shaking so, Charles."

Charles clenched his hands to stop their shaking, but it was no use. The fists he made continued to quiver. "I'm not afraid."

"And I am not saying that you are," his father acquiesced. "You are smart. A fool would not be shaking right now, and this proves that you're no fool. Something that is going to be needed in these next few months, bloody hell… perhaps even years now that I've heard glimpses of the plans." He ran a hand through his hair and then sank into his chair.

"Are you aware of the war going on right now, son?"

The boy nodded. "I have heard the general facts about it but none of the specifics. The tutor has been avoiding my questions on it when I ask."

"And he has good right to considering where his loyalties lie," his father muttered begrudgingly before continuing. "Do you remember the war before this? Did the private school teach you that before you were pulled out?"

"Yes. There was an assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand and Hungary-Austria teamed up with Germany to go against America, United Kingdom, Russia, etc. Germany lost dearly and reparations ruined their economy. Their economy is still bad. Why does it matter in this case, father?"

"Because, those reparations caused a certain dictator to rise to rule. Adolf Hitler. He is a very good speaker and has won over many to his promise of the world. In the process, however, he has prosecuted Jews to-"

"Ghettos," Charles gasped out, thinking of Erik and the shower of metal and a whole new wave of nausea hit him like a bus.

"Well, yes," his father said slowly, narrowing his eyes. He was no doubt suspicious of how Charles knew this but he didn't say. "But not only that. Concentration camps as well, which are far worse than the ghettos. They were sent there because they were accused of keeping money from Germany. Currently, Germany is in an alliance with Italy and Japan, Tojo and Mussolini being the leaders, in this matter. They are the Axis. The Allies are those that the men mentioned before. Right now it mostly consists of the United Kingdom and potentially America in the future if their neutrality changes. France is a possibility. It's not a pretty picture at this moment in history, my boy."

"It doesn't sound like it. Whose side are you on, father?"

Another rueful smile. "Quick to the punch, are you?"

"I just know when one is skirting around a topic very well I assure you."

His father seemed to have a beam of pride in his eyes for a moment. If this topic wasn't so depressing, Charles might have preened under the praise. "I see. Well, to answer your question, I am on neither and both. Before you ask another question, let me explain this." Charles's mouth popped closed as he crossed his legs, waiting for his explanation. This was the longest time that his father had ever spoken to him in person, and even though Charles wished it was under different circumstances, he was going to listen fully. "My loyalty in terms of morals lie with the Allies. My loyalty in terms of this project are to the Axis. However, I do not have a preference on who prevails since I plan to remain absent after this project, your mother and you as well. The reason I am performing this project for the enemy, as they say, is because I made this project to have a code that the Allies can hack into, with the code I left by the lab before we left home, and detonate it. It's not a huge explosion, but if it ends up at one of the main bases, this could aid in finishing the war quickly."

"You say you don't care who wins but it seems you follow the Allies completely."

"I suppose I just prefer freedom and peace rather than a dictatorship ruled under fear and prejudice. I suspect that you would, too."

He wasn't wrong in the assumption. A dictatorship might as well call on a disaster. People don't do well under restraints. Much like dogs with a collar unwanted, they fought and fought _hard_. Even if this war ended with Hitler and his dictatorship, another war would start not so soon after in rebellion and retaliation – which would lead to an increase in dire results.

Compared to the possible demons faced with Hitler on the rise, having the Allies win seemed to be the lesser of the two – even if that might take longer to achieve.

But what was the point in telling Charles this? He was merely a child right now, much to his annoyance. He didn't like admitting it for he surely felt smarter than any _child_ , but he couldn't deny the truth of it. Granted, he was smarter than he should be for his age, it still didn't change the fact that he wasn't an adult who could do anything and cause havoc for a movement. He was only a boy, sadly, and not many people took him seriously anyways.

"Why are you telling me this? Logically, you know that I can't do anything about it but prepare for the worst. What is your reasoning?"

"Because I fear for the worst. As I said before, your mother and you are not safe anymore. Lives are on the line, and it is my fault. I am preparing for the worst and if that should come, I don't want you to have any doubts as to who I was. Just remember that I did this to end the war quickly and that the Allies will prevail I assure you."

"What is the worst, father? You seem to speak of it as if it is a death sentence – something that cannot be avoided."

To that question, his father averted his gaze to the documents on the table, staring at them as if wishing them to disappear and fall completely in nonexistence. "I cannot answer that, son. I will answer any other question you have, but I cannot answer that one."

Charles thinned his lips. He couldn't answer that question? The one that was burning brighter than the rest? He has been able to say the awful things he had planned to do thus far, but he couldn't continue to the result? It was like starting an experiment and skipping the results – going straight to cleaning the tools and leaving.

To say he didn't like it was putting it so lightly it was practically transparent.

He wanted to know what his father was thinking. Was he regretting his decision? Was he truly sorry? Or was he trying to put a better, more believable image of himself into the boy's mind? He didn't know what to believe. His father was who he appeared to be and yet not at all. Working for both sides? Preparing for the worst?

And he was creating a bomb at that. A bomb! Something incredibly dangerous. It didn't matter if it was controlled and would end the war quickly, it would still cause a lot of lives to be lost – and who is to say those lives were not innocent? Bombs were never good. They never brought peace at all from what Charles understood.

He wanted to read his father's mind and was distraught to know he couldn't. It was impossible. It was so terribly impossible, but he would be _damned_ if he couldn't wish with every fiber of his insufficient being.

"Then that is it I think. I am going to go to the shop and buy a few things," Charles spoke quietly, making his way to the door of his father's study.

However, when his hand had just grasped the door knob, he paused and turned to face his shaken father. His skin was pale, like those outside, and he was beginning to carry the thin hair and the sallow cheekbones. At least his eyes were still alight. At least he wasn't a complete husk yet.

"Actually, I have one question. Who is Captain America? You mentioned him before?"

There was an amused smile that came to his father's lips. A complete opposite from the strained frowned. This was a different smile though. Secretive. Hush hush. A small little inside joke that made his father seem younger than he looked before. "Just a man who would have done anything for his country. A friend, really. You might have liked him."

That only caused a new can of worms to open in Charles's infinite curiosity, but feeling that his father wouldn't tell him more about this mysterious hero, he nodded and left the room. He couldn't handle any more uncertainty and secrets. There were far too many already. Enough to drown a person without them even being known.

…

_Daily Herald_

_October 10, 1939_

_**First Close-Up Of Fighting** _

_**NAZIS SEND BOYS TO WESTERN FRONT** _

_Edgar Mower, "Daily Herald" Special Correspondent, gives you to-day a big news "scoop" – the first close-up story of warfare on the Western Front._

_LAUTERBACH, Forest of Warndt, Monday._

_They brought in the two Germans feet first in a wagon covered with a cloth. Soldiers and visiting newspapermen fathered about._

_A French Lieutenant cautiously removed the cloth there were two dead boys. I watched the face of Jules, the French private standing next to me. It seemed he could never get enough of the dead faces._

_"Two more victims of Adolf Hitler," he said and looked away._

_The taller and louder of the two dead was a corporal._

_"Like Hitler," said Jules. "It's always the wrong fellow who gets it."_

_Carefully the French examined the Germans' equipment. The dead men were wearing good, solid high leather boots and good, strong tunics. This was no "ersatz."_

…

Charles left the study and not a quarter of an hour later, left the house that seemed stifling with stale, tense air circulating over months and months with no end.

He already had an idea in mind for today and it didn't include praying, like his mother, or expecting the worst, like his father. It was his own thought. A partial thought, for he wasn't sure if it would succeed, but a thought of his own nonetheless that was surely more optimistic than those around him.

Erik would be proud of him.

He wasn't sure if it would work since he was still a child to most people, but he was hoping that some people were still nice and would give what he needed to him. If not, he didn't know what he would do but he would figure out something.

He was good at improvising he was told.

Making his way to the nearest shop, he asked the man sweeping the floorboards for medicine. Of course, that wasn't nearly specific enough. Wracking his brain for a thought of painkillers, he asked blindly for something for the flu. Anything to help the symptoms. The man gave an odd look to Charles but went to the storage to retrieve a syringe in a fancy little box.

"This is the vaccine for the flu. I shouldn't be giving it to a boy, considering it is not completely tested and you are far from being a professional."

_Then why bring it out despite the fact?_ Charles wanted to counter on impulse. _Clearly, you intend to sell it and ignore my age._

But he couldn't say that. It would be a quick boot out the door and then where would he be?

So he bit his tongue until the words died away and replied.

"Oh, please, sir. I need it for my mum. She is too sick to come on her own and my father has left the country for work. I am the only person who can pick this up." He made tears spring up in his eyes and opened his eyes wide. The man seemed to hesitate.

"Well… do you at least have a doctor who can administer this?"

"Yes. He's at the house now. He's looking over my mum and sent me to get this. I even have the money to pay for it." He fished around his pockets for the Reichs and pulled them out, showing them to the man.

The adult seemed to pause for a long while, looking over Charles suspiciously before finally nodding. Charles almost wanted to sigh in relief.

"You seem to be telling the truth so I will give this to you. But you better be telling me the truth, boy."

_It's not like you would care otherwise._

"I am," Charles affirmed quickly, handing the amount of money over quickly and then dashing out towards the wall. With each step he prayed to a God he didn't believe in that Erik would be there. That he would be okay. He had to be okay.

Reaching the wall, he was more than relieved to not see the officer he had seen the day prior. There wasn't even a guard on the wall like the past few days he has seen in the distance. He hoped that was good thing. It had to be. Luck had been on his side so far so perhaps that was telling for how this might go. He had to remain hopeful and optimistic – for Erik and for himself.

Getting close to the wall, his spot, he placed his hands against the wall, as he had done the very first day, and murmured just loud enough for anyone directly next to the wall to hear. "Hello? Erik?"

For a minute, Charles had heard nothing. It was silent. Absolutely silent.

Charles wanted to cry for a moment, for the second time that week. He wanted to cry for the friend he might have lost in the "shower of metal" Erik was vague about. He didn't even get to see him or help him! He didn't even know how old he was! Was he older than him? Younger? Charles would never know and the frustration and sadness and fear almost choked the building sob out of him.

Then, at the last moment when it seemed unbearable, he heard the most beautiful sound in the world.

"Charles?"

The tears that sprang to his eyes were happy and brief, and he wiped them away quickly with a small laugh.

"Oh… God. Thank every lucky star I could ever have. My friend, are you okay? Are you hurt? Did-"

"Calm down, Charles. I am fine. I don't know how I am, but it seems I was not chosen this time around. I am safe, for now. Please do not fret."

"Ah, you must be asking the ridiculous!" Charles exclaimed in hysteria before calming down, brushing away his dark bangs that were getting way too long for his liking, almost tickling his nose. "Not to worry about my closest friend? Especially right now? You must be crazy, Erik. I simply cannot _not_ worry about someone I care about. My goodness. What do you take me for?"

"Charles-"

"I mean, do you realize how utterly terrified I was? Knowing that I could never talk to you? And I have never even seen your face. You could be taller than me, older than me, hell, you could be someone completely different from my imagination, but all I have cared about is hearing your voice. That's crazy, isn't it? Silly. Ridiculous. Wanting to hear someone's voice so badly. Ha. You must think me a fool, Erik."

"Charles, please, for a moment, shut up."

Charles closed his mouth with a pop.

"It isn't silly. Wanting to hear someone's voice. At least, I don't think it is, and if it happens to be despite what I think, then to hell with it all. It is perfectly reasonable because… I wanted to hear your voice, too. After you left, your words kept on in my head on repeat. Even as I stared at the metal itself with a fear of what may happen. I truly wanted to hear you."

"Erik…" Charles sighed, allowing a soft laugh to escape his lips. It sounded almost on the brink of mania, but what did one expect when it seemed that his skin was finally settling. "Oh goodness… I swear..."

"You swear what?"

"I… I don't know!" Another laugh. "I don't know. Maybe I swear that I might actually fall from exhaustion against this wall. Or maybe I swear that you may be more important to me than any person I have ever met. Or maybe I swear that we are both ridiculous in the best ways when it comes to this friendship. I haven't the slightest which to swear completely to. Which do you think?"

He could hear a smile in Erik's voice as he responded. "Preferably the last two. I'd hate for you to pass out against this wall. Someone could come and take you away, and when would I ever hear your voice?"

He was used to Erik's teasing, but he couldn't help the flush that crept up his neck as he chuckled. "Oh yes, what would you do?"

They laughed for a moment, one full of mirth and amusement and the other laced with relief and small paces of anxiety. It countered each other but melted beautifully to make it almost seem like the good days they had before all of this questioning death and when it may come.

When he sat down on the ground, he felt the box with the needle slip from his grasp to lightly land against the cobblestone floor. Charles blinked at it for a moment before scrambling to get back up in an instant.

"Oh! Erik! I have something for you."

"For me?" He asked quizzically.

"Yes, you. Of course you. Who else? One second. Let me see if I can find a way to slide it over the wall. Perhaps if I climb-"

"Charles, there is a hole a meter away from where we are talking. You can probably slip it through there instead of recklessly climbing something and potentially hurting yourself."

"But that does dampen the fun of things, don't you think?" Charles joked, following the instructions until he found a little hole between two stones in the wall. It was just wide and tall enough to slip the syringe through but not the box.

When Erik received it, there was a confused silence.

"What is this? Medicine? Poison?"

"Poison? No. Not at all. It's a vaccine, Erik. It's… not perfect, but I was thinking that perhaps it would help your mum. I remember you telling me she was sickly. If you weren't here I would have found a way to give it to her somehow, but I'd like to say that I like this outcome more."

"You didn't have to. How did you even get it? You can't be but a boy."

"I wanted to. I truly insist, and I'm not a boy. Almost sixteen as a matter of fact so shush," Charles quipped childishly, wanting to stick his tongue out. After a second to calm down, he asked, "Are you going to be able to give it to her? It's probably strict in there, isn't it?"

"Quite. But I'll figure out a way. Thank you so much. I don't think words could express my gratitude enough."

Having him be as happy was more than enough. He didn't have to thank Charles more than that. Living and being here and allowing Charles to hear his voice made things all the better. It would be so much better if he could just talk to him without being here. Telepathically like in cartoons and science books. A link. Something to make them able to converse more and whenever they needed it the most.

Again, hopeful and impossible thoughts he knew. Yet, he couldn't stop them. Never tried to actually. He was a hopeful wisher by nature.

For the rest of the day until nightfall threatened to break the sunlight Charles and Erik talked. This time, however, Erik seemed to talk about his family more than before. Charles listened and said nothing as Erik mentioned how his father was shot by the Germans trying to protect his family and give them a chance to run. He mentioned how his father was always a little odd, but that he was well-respected and meant well entirely.

His mum was a soft-hearted person by nature. She wanted the best for her son and wished for him to be happy. She was the mum Charles wished he had instead of the scolding mother he had now, unreachable in her ego. He still loved his mother, but he couldn't help but compare them and wish for a little _more_. Compared to his mother, Erik's mum had always been sickly but the ghettos weren't making it easier for her immune system. The soldiers didn't care what happened to them.

And that was absolutely horrible. Terrible. Inhumane. It was… it seemed like something straight out a horror tale. Nothing more than words to give you night terrors when you closed your eyes.

Yet Charles knew it was reality. At least, a little part of him. Most of his head told him that things couldn't be that bad, that humans couldn't treat other people that way. It was cruel and should violate multiple obscure rules of humanity if they existed. Who could do that?

But then there was his head and his head was saying cruel things too. Things like the fact that it was reality, and he couldn't help the grimace and frustration that came when he heard of how the soldiers beat him when he challenged their authority, how they starved his mother once simply because they thought it was pointless giving food to a weak individual. How they didn't even have names in that place really.

By the end of the conversation, Charles had a newfound respect for Erik. For all he had gone through so far and continues to go through – and for his mum as well.

When they said their goodbyes, Charles's heart felt heavy, but he couldn't help the wave or relief that came with the fact that Erik was indeed alive and well. He didn't… He wasn't…

Well, it wasn't true. That was what mattered.

…

_Daily Herald_

_October 12, 1939_

_**OUR POWER GROWS AS NAZIS DALLY** _

_**Somewhere in France, Wednesday.** _

_**The truth about the Royal Air Force in France at present is that there is very little spectacular fighting going on.** _

_Like the French Army and those parts of the British Army which are already in position, the R.A.F. await the main German onslaught – whenever that may come._

_One opinion in France holds that the Germans will attempt a grand scale outflanking movement, sudden and penetrating, through both Dutch and Belgian territory._

_**158,000 British troops are now in France.** _

_**See Hore-Belisha's report on PAGE FIVE** _

…


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A week had passed and Charles was almost completely certain that his father didn't finish the project.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a short chapter I know, but please enjoy it all the same. I don't like the chapter at all since I had to adjust Charles a bit and I'm still working out the kinks in his and Erik's mannerisms and such. I wish I could write them expertly, haha...

Chapter 3

A week had passed and Charles was almost completely certain that his father didn't finish the project.

He would be a liar if he said he wasn't a little bit upset with his father. Not a lot, for he knew that when pressure was upon him he couldn't focus well either, but enough to make him concerned. After all, it wasn't just his father's life and career on the line, but Charles and his mother's life as well.

For some reason, he hoped this factor might have spurred some indignation of determination, but it either had not manifested in his father's thoughts or he was so distracted that work seemed impossible.

Each night he would hear the man mutter to himself, shuffling pictures and notes, and cursing names Charles had never known and might now never get the chance to know. At first, he assumed that perhaps his father was taking to drink, but after going through his office and listening to the severity of the rambles, the lucidity and intellectual wording, he knew that wasn't true.

His father was panicking. His father was distressed. Those were the words his Charles's intuition had told him every night that he stayed up listening to these words. For the first few days, it was hard to believe. He had never seen his father act this erratically, and he was thrown for a loop.

But after a few days, he found that it must have been true. The physical evidence explained all of it. Dark shadows found his father's eyes, and a certain shiver had taken to his joints. He was a mess and Charles wondered if he was right to predict the worst.

That day he had gone to Erik and told him about his father's behavior. He didn't tell him about the men his father talked to nor the project he was making, but he talked of how he was unsure what was going to happen. His father was always calm and optimistic but now it seemed to be the opposite.

"What is your father, Charles?" Erik eventually asked and Charles hesitated briefly before responding.

"A Nuclear Physicist. A scientist I guess is the simplest way to put it."

"It's rather odd that a man of that degree would end up here, close to the heart of the war at a time when it was needed most – his skill."

_Perhaps I'm not the only one with a good intuition._

Charles said nothing, afraid to give away more than he was willing to share. He didn't think Erik would assume his father to be bad once he heard his standing, but it still didn't change the fact that he was temporarily siding with the enemy in most people's eyes.

"Charles?"

"It's nothing, my friend. I'm just rather tired." Wasn't that the truth? He hadn't been sleeping well lately, most of his thoughts going over what his father said, dissecting everything and trying to make heads and tails of a subject matter that was already blunt as is.

He thought that seeing Erik well and more or less sounding healthy would make him happier, but it had no effect. Only when Charles heard his voice clearly was he allowed to feel the exhaustion he had bottled up.

It was as if his voice, Erik's voice, was a sedative. A welcomed one at that if he was actually in his bed.

"You should have remained home and rested rather than come all the way here. It isn't safe for you," Erik scolded him, but Charles simply laughed it off.

"I'm fine. Trust me. I know my body more than anyone else and I think I'm well enough to visit a good friend." Besides, if he had to remain home, he would have continued to hear how his father restlessly paced the halls with mutterings of it being "a week" and it being "too late." Just because his father was already focusing on the outcome didn't mean that Charles wanted to follow into his footsteps quite yet.

But Erik didn't know that. All he knew was that he was tired and not following the normal reaction of sleeping. It was ever present in his tone when he stated, "If you say so" as if waiting for Charles to pass out.

Charles was leaning against the wall, fumbling with a fray on his trousers. Probably from wearing them far too many times against the cobblestone.

It was eating at him, not telling Erik everything. He usually did, for it was so easy to be open with him. He didn't judge Charles for his actions and live – occasionally even giving advice in areas Charles needed it. He wasn't a bad ear to have listen to his day… but, he couldn't gauge what Erik would think when he told him the threat his father mentioned, the men he talked to, or the project he was in charge of.

Would he be angry at him? He'd have some right to, however Charles knew as little as he did until recently.

Would he stop talking to him? _That_ was what Charles feared more than anything. He didn't know what he would do if Erik stopped talking to him. It was almost unimaginable.

"I can hear your thoughts from here, Charles." Charles head snapped up, hitting the wall behind him. Rubbing his head, he turned to face where Erik's voice came from. "You can tell my anything. You once told me that, and I am choosing to reciprocate it. I'm not going to judge you. You know this."

But it isn't that easy! It isn't. Not with this topic, not with this person, certainly not with their situation. It wasn't easy to tell him and he couldn't say those words so blindly.

"You can trust me."

The thoughts ceased entirely. It was like a key, those words. A key that Charles very much needed.

_You can tell Erik this_ , his thoughts whispered to him and sighed as he opened his mouth and allowed what had been eating at him to spill out.

"My family has been threatened, Erik."

Erik was quick to react. "What? When? Why?"

"My father… he is working with dangerous people. He's on the side of the Allies, but he's working with the Axis to make sure things work. However, it seems… that he hasn't been doing what the Axis want him to do. They said if his project, what he's been doing, isn't done in a week's time, that they would take away everyone dear to him." Charles paused before finishing quietly, feeling the tension of the situation almost suffocate him. "It's been a week now. I don't know when they will come."

Erik was quiet for a long time. Charles didn't know if he was thinking and wished desperately so that he could figure it out. At least he would be warned of what may come, what may be said, in turn of the words he uttered so faintly.

Had he left? Was he thinking? Was he contemplating their friendship? So many questions. So many that it indeed felt longer than the thirty seconds he thought them all out in.

"Do you know where they will take you? I'm… assuming that they mean you and your mother."

Charles shook his head. "No. I don't know where they will take us or what they will do to us. I.. fear the worst, Erik. I want to be optimistic, because you said it was a refreshing quality to have, but I can't keep it up right now. It seems almost futile."

"It will be okay."

A laugh choked itself up Charles throat. A small, high-pitched, breathy thing that sounded closer to mania than any actual amusement.

Okay? Things would be okay? Oh, if only Erik _knew_. Things wouldn't be fine in the slightest. Not with how those men threatened his father so and how it, in turn, caused his father to deteriorate in front of his very eyes. Things seemed as bright and possible as finding the exit in a pitch black room of nothing and yet Erik says everything will be fine?

Charles couldn't believe it. He couldn't find the logic, the reason, the nerve to believe such words. Even his optimism and intuition failed him here when it once had been the driving force he went off of.

"Erik. I know you mean well and that's why you are saying it, but how can anything in this situation be okay?" Fingers ran through his darkened locks and eyes found the need to look to the sky which was cloudy in countenance and as far from the bright sun as possible.

"You're not a fool, Charles. You are stressed."

"I am not _stressed,_ " he hissed but he knew he was. So stressed that his shoulders felt like they would bow under the pressure. "I'm not. I'm capable and this won't get to me."

"Yet, you are reacting like the world may end because of it. That doesn't sound like logic or rational to me, Charles, and I've known you enough to know you pride yourself on that. This is pure, emotional fear. Think it over."

"I have!" It took all his power not to bang on the wall, to make Erik understand exactly what lengths he had thought this out in his mind. It might as well be a damn _palace_ by now with all the rooms of possibilities and reactions he had wondered in the past week alone.

"Then tell me about them."

"Tell you about..? Fine. Let's go in order, shall we? My father disobeyed a contract of sorts he was given by the Axis. Because of that, he is under threat – as well as we – to be taken, killed, whatever the case may be. What will happen to us? I don't know. We may be killed to make a statement. We may be taken away to someplace I don't even know of. We may be used. We may be locked away because we know too much. There are too many possibilities. There are too many options and scenarios that may go wrong or right that I cannot think straight."

"You compared your thoughts to a palace. I'm sure you can lock the rooms that you don't need. Think over this slowly. Your family is in trouble. That's all you know, Charles. Everything else is up to your imagination. They said they would take your mother and you away, but your imagination is what's stressing you." Erik's voice rooted him to the spot as he spoke and Charles imagined him to be resting his head against the wall, closing his eyes and speaking slowly – as if to calm down a child. "Lock those rooms up. The ones that your imagination created."

"But then-"

"Then you won't be so on a wire that a simple sentence will cause you to snap under pressure."

Sighing, Charles pushed away the thoughts, locking them away and allowing his head to be free of them for the moment. All that was left was exactly what Charles said.

"Breathe for a second."

"I know how to breathe Erik. I'm not incompetent."

"I'm not saying you are. I'm just telling you how to calm down since you don't seem to know how to do that. You only know how to argue everything people are telling you." Charles felt like a part of this was Erik's own small annoyance directed at Charles and didn't say anything in response.

"Fine. I'm breathing. Is there anything else I should do?"

"No. That is it. You should feel a little less stressed. Thinking too much makes you ignore what is going to happen. You create so many possibilities that you don't know what is real."

"What are you? A psychiatrist?" But Erik was right. Charles was calming down significantly, the pressure easing off his shoulders ever so slightly. He felt he could actually extend himself for once.

"No," there was a little bit of amusement. "I was just there when I was younger."

"Again, pointing out that I am not a child." Charles couldn't help himself. It was impulse, but this time he said it with a small smile on his lips, waiting for Erik to take the bait.

"Charles. You are 15 years old. I think that's still a child _at least._ "

"And what have you to say? You cannot be much older than I am. You can't talk."

He heard a chuckle and was relieved to feel the tension he caused to dissolve with it. "I am 17, Charles. I am definitely older than you. Closer to being an adult than you, I mean."

"You're still a year or so away from it, though," he quipped ignorantly.

"If that is what helps you sleep at night then so be it."

The conversation flowed easily after that. It was as if it kind of melted away. Charles got out his frustrations but the guilt that followed was immense. Erik had to calm him down even though he probably had more cause to vent than Charles did. He was going through so much worse. So much! And yet, here he was comforting Charles when the worst he was going through was his father and…

It just didn't sit right with him.

When Charles left that evening, much too soon for either of them, he couldn't help but feel that this was going to be their last conversation for a while. His intuition spoke volumes and it wasn't wrong.

He feared it this time.

…

His home wasn't his anymore.

It had been invaded.

Stone-faced men in dark green uniforms marched like angry ants up to their flat. They had weapons at their sides and shadows that seemed to double their existence.

Charles was crouched behind a tree, legs aching from staying there too long. He had been hiding for thirty minutes now, and if it wasn't for the night and his dark clothing he might have been spotted. His breaths were silent, far too quick, far too shallow. His hands were one with the bark in front of him, nails digging in as if hoping to root him to the spot – to remain unseen.

What had Erik said before? Everything would be okay?

The 15-year-old boy didn't believe that in the slightest. Not anymore.

He heard his father yell in exasperation, but he couldn't make out the words. He was probably questioning them and their supervisor; that was always a first to ask for when angry. For someone higher up. Someone to make them back down. It was silly to ask for such, to ask for that in this case, but his father was too prideful.

The servants were fleeing the area, aprons still on and scuffling out like rats abandoning a hole. They didn't make a sound, but their faces spoke all the fear they had from what Charles could glimpse under the street lamps.

The soldiers continued to march in, one by one, heavy steps in sync, until Charles thought hysterically that there shouldn't be any more room. There were more shouts from his father. Angry shouts that were uncharacteristic to his father's calm nature. It was frightening. Charles was terrified and his legs hurt so much at this point that his bones creaked when pressure was placed on them.

A part of him wanted to run away since that was what he was good at. He could run and run and never look back. He could be safe and not face the threat his father had allowed him to hear.

_Could he run away?_

_"You are smart. A fool would not be shaking right now, and this proves that you're no fool. Something that is going to be needed in these next few months."_

_No. No he couldn't._

That would be a fool's errand, and much like his father said, he wasn't a fool. Perhaps when he first arrived he was ignorant of the war, but not because he wanted to be. He still didn't know why the buildings were reduced to rubble in certain parts of Warsaw. He still didn't know why this was really happening. He didn't know a lot about this war, but he knew enough to know that running might be futile at this point.

Perhaps he was right to say that he wouldn't like Warsaw when he first arrived here.

He wasn't a fool. He was a Xavier and Xavier's were not known or made to flee with their tails between their legs. They were strong and smart and could withstand anything. Charles wanted to believed he was one of those individuals. He wanted to be a Xavier and that meant not running away.

Standing up, he slowly walked out of the shadows of the tree, hand lingering for a moment before uprooting itself from safety. His steps felt far too loud in his head, but his heart was louder as it pulsed with each thick, hummingbird-quick beat. He said he was a Xavier but he was still deathly afraid. He couldn't just say his namesake and magically expect bravery.

But he could use the namesake as a crutch for the moment. Maybe that was all it was supposed to be for. Names couldn't truly imbue power, but what they meant might.

As he walked up to the flat that the ants ceased marching in, Charles worked on separating himself. His mother taught him that to hide his emotions was the best advantage he could have in an unknown area. No one would know he was thinking. He could never succeed well under her scrutiny, but he hoped the direness of the situation would allow it to work – just one time.

One of the men spotted him.

A well-built, dark-green soldier with a clean face. His eyes were hard and his lips not frowning or smiling.

When Charles stood in front of him, he took a deep breath.

"I… I am Xavier's son." As soon as he said the name, he stood taller, allowed his head to raise to meet the man square in the eye. His voice was firm and betrayed none of the fear he actually felt. "May I go in?"

The soldier seemed to judge him for the longest minute in Charles's life before moving to the side and allowing him to walk in, following behind him as if thinking the boy might escape.

_Too late for that, I fear._

When he opened the front door, he spotted his mother sitting quietly in the armchair in front of the fireplace. There was no fire at this moment. There was no warmth. Even so, his mother sat in the chair, impeccable and clean as if expecting guests rather than an army to walk into her door. Her eyes stared at her hands – most rings stripped except her marriage bands – as they carefully twisted and turned.

His father was a different story. His usual trousers and vest were wrinkled and messy. The button up shirt was untucked on one side and his buttons on his vest were off by one on each row. His hair was disheveled and his eyes showing the expression of mania, desperation, anger, and something else Charles wasn't sure of.

They were opposites. Polar opposites but Charles's intuition told him they were both feeling the same emotion: fear.

Eyes turned to him as he walked in, but he kept his head high as he walked over to stand beside his mother. Unexpectedly, the second he stopped, his mother reached out and grabbed his hand, squeezing it as if needing reassurance.

In front of him was the scratchy voiced man and Wilhelm.

"It seems there is no need to wait any longer, Xavier. It is clear that you do not have the device we wanted you to make. You swore your life, and your family's, that you would have it done and yet there is nothing but the blueprints we saw a week prior." The old man with the cane spoke solemnly before revealing a document (probably the contract his father had signed) and ripping it to pieces. "Our deal has been terminated. You have not met our standards and thus you shall be punished." Turning to the nearest shoulder, he tilted his head towards mother and I.

Robotically and with little kindness, the men forced Charles and his mother away from the comforts of their home. They didn't bind their hands, and for that Charles was grateful because his mother's grip was firm as if she would never let go. He wasn't sure if he wanted her to.

They were thrown into a van and had the doors slammed shut behind them. His father shouted and screamed in rampage behind them and Charles barely had any time to blink before a loud bang was heard. His mother let out a soft gasp and forced Charles's face to the crook of her neck.

He didn't realize he was crying until he heard his own stuttering breaths and felt the fabric under his face soak.

He didn't realize his mother had been crying until he looked up for a brief moment and caught her eyes reflect in the moon light, a single tear tracing down her chin and lips placed into a thin line.

Charles didn't even think that this was the first time he wasn't scolded for crying.

Perhaps there were exceptions. Perhaps _this_ was one of them.

…

_Daily Herald_

_October 3, 1939_

_**Poland: U.S. Rebuffs Hitler** _

_**RECOGNITION REFUSED** _

_The United States will not recognize the conquest of Poland._

_On the contrary, it will maintain diplomatic relations with the Polish "Government-in-Exile" recently formed in Paris._

_Mr. Cordell Hull, United States Secretary of State, made this announcement last night._

_**Crowds At Capitol** _

_At the same time the United States Senate was discussing another blow to Hitler – the revised Neutrality Bill, which would give the Allies the advantage of being able to buy arms from the United States on a "cash-and-carry" basis…._


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles never thought there would be a moment when he would want to hear Erik's voice more than the week before when he feared for the boy's life. It seemed so dire and fear coursed through his veins like icicles in a sluggish Arctic ocean. A certain dread that made his steps falter and his mind go off a rail it followed so surely. It was frightening, but it was nothing compared to how much he wanted to hear his voice now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Authors Note: Hello! I meant to post this chapter sooner but I got caught up with college and work. All my classes wanted to do exams this week. As is, I am living on 3 hours of sleep in the last 3 days alone because of my obsessive studying and wanting to do well. I feel dead right now haha..
> 
> But! But I got a chapter! Well, more like I have two chapters :) This one felt too short so I made another one and that's the reason why I didn't post this. I don't mind short chapters if they are decent, but this one didn't seem to be? It might just be my awful writing though haha...
> 
> Well, enjoy? Hopefully?
> 
> Also, I had the most lovely review and that person is the main reason why I was able to scrounge up these chapters so quickly! :) I kind of rushed these though so I don't think they will be a thank you enough haha...

Chapter 4

_"Monsters exist, but they are too few in number to be truly dangerous. More dangerous are the common men, the functionaries ready to believe and to act without asking questions." – **Primo Levi** _

….

Charles never thought there would be a moment when he would want to hear Erik's voice more than the week before when he feared for the boy's life. It seemed so dire and fear coursed through his veins like icicles in a sluggish Arctic ocean. A certain dread that made his steps falter and his mind go off a rail it followed so surely. It was frightening, but it was nothing compared to how much he wanted to hear his voice now.

Arctic tides didn't course through is veins now. No, now it wasn't even relatively _smooth_ what went through him. It was solid, thickened, chunks of sub-zero ice that forced through his veins, arteries, _heart_ in stuttered pulses. This was torture compared to what he felt back then. Small bats of the hand to a back-handed slap.

And Charles _knew_ , he just knew that if he could hear just a small word from the boy he talked to on the other side of that tall, brick wall, he could actually thaw and not feel like he was some frigid thing.

Just a small word was all he wanted. Even his name would have worked.

But this didn't make any sense to him. Didn't his father just die? Shouldn't he want to hear _his_ voice? Shouldn't he want to talk to _him_ again? After all, he had lost his father – not his best friend – though they certainly felt the same despite the obvious difference of death.

Perhaps the shock hadn't hit him? Or was he in denial? Both?

After all, he hadn't had much time to actually think over much between being dragged away with a rough hand on the small of his back and being grounded with the death-like vice of another hand. He was sure it would hit him eventually. It had to. He had a heart and what use was it if not to grieve someone he loved?

But, ridiculously enough, even through all this he just wanted a small _"Charles"_ from Erik. It was silly but that was what he truly wanted.

It didn't seem like much to want. He couldn't ask for much now with how things were continuing to spiral downwards, but he just wanted the reassurance. The stupidly wrong assurance that everything would be fine. Even if it wasn't, Charles could believe it for the moment if Erik was the one to say it.

Which was absolutely _rich_ considering how he reacted yesterday. If only he knew this was going to happen. Perhaps then he wouldn't have acted like a prat to the only friend he had in this city.

He left the memory of a brat rather than the listener people usually named him for – a good one at that. God… he was such an idiot!

When would he really get a second chance to fix that?

Charles knew it was impossible to change anything of the past. If it ever seemed slightly unlikely then, now it was definitely not possible. Wherever the soldiers were taking them, it was certainly going to be far from Erik. He would never get to hear his voice and that was almost as painful as the gun shot that still echoed in his skull and left evidence in the form of dried tears on his cheeks.

He must have passed out a few minutes after they were forced away from their home. He didn't know how long he slept, the vehicle didn't show much and what it did revealed nothing.

It wasn't a van like he suspected. It was more like a bulky vehicle, something odd compared to back home and their automobiles. It was moderately comfortable, but it seemed they blacked out the windows in the back seat so that the only glimpse of the outside world was through a small space barely visible into the driver side of the vehicle.

Why was he even focusing on the vehicle? Goodness, he was in an awful situation and all he could think of was how he was getting to where he was going. Ridiculous.

Charles would have shaken his head in disbelief at his own antics if he hadn't felt such a heavy weight on it. His mother's head now rested a top of his it seemed, her breathing slow and deep. She was probably sleeping, and Charles didn't have the heart to ruin her sleep. Not when her hand still held his tightly to the point that his fingers were sore.

When was the last time his mother held his hand? God… he couldn't even remember that far back. When he was born? When he had attended his first class? No, neither of these thoughts came to him as a "a-ha!" sort of moment. It had never happened before, but with how much his mother – _maybe a mum now_ – held onto it, it was as if she had done it all her life.

He didn't complain. He needed to reassurance too. Even if it wasn't the kind he specifically needed (and wasn't that awful to say. He felt guilty just thinking it. She was his _mother_. He should want her comfort, shouldn't he?) – beggars couldn't be choosers and a small part of him wanted to treasure this moment when his mother seemed more like the mum he wanted.

If he could have had her without what had happened though, it would have been so much better. He preferred keeping his mother and her status quo if that meant that all of this could have been avoided. His father. Wilhelm. The gun shot. Everything. Just… everything.

The men upfront didn't speak. He suspected one of them to be Wilhelm or the scratchy voiced man (he really needed to get the name of the man), but it could have been anyone.

His intuition was quiet this night and didn't submit any hints to their person. Considering danger sparked it intensely, Charles didn't know if this was good or not.

Without those thoughts, all that was left was to wait, which Charles was spectacularly _not good_ at. At least, in certain scenarios. With people? Yes. His patience was infinite and even though he may get worn out after a while, he tended to be really good at keeping a good face about everything. With general situations or days or events? Not so much. He wanted to get things as done as possible, as quick as possible, as finished as possible. It left little room to wonder and at least he wouldn't be left to sit like _this_.

Even if he didn't like the place he was going to, at least when he got there he could plan for something instead of merely sitting around waiting for paint to dry on some wall. If he was going to die, then he could prepare himself for it. If he was going to be a prisoner, then he could begin to map out areas and mentally catalogue everything he sees!

But when it was like this, like some mysterious unknown where the phrase _"we get there when we get there"_ truly applies? He felt like he was going to jump out of his own skin with unease.

These were his thoughts on this situation, but what was going on around him? He was in shock himself – waiting for the other shoe to drop to bring to grieving loss. What about his mother- mum? What about her? Was she dreaming of the man that she married for 15 years and more? Was she seeing Charles as him or her son? He wanted to see into her head for just a moment – unlike any other time – just out of curiosity.

For once, he actually thought about that sentence.

Would he truly want to though? If he could? To be able to for a moment?

The answer came slowly but that didn't make it any less true.

No. No, he probably couldn't. It was merely all word and little action. Doing something like that, it was… surely a violation of some sort of privacy and those thoughts might be sacred to her. At one point he always wished to read the minds of others, but now he realized that maybe some things were supposed to be kept a little bit secret.

A sigh escaped his lips, and he found his eyes fluttering shut as he forced his stiff muscles to relax.

Perhaps he should have remained asleep. It felt a lot faster than counting each second in his head and running marathons with his rambling thoughts.

…..

The car had stopped moving.

His mum was shaking him awake. _When had he passed out?_

Stretching, he rubbed his eyes and looked to his mum, but her gaze was elsewhere.

He followed it and noticed it was directed at the thin stretch of space visible to them. It was still night – not even day had broken through – so they must not have traveled that far. The headlights of the vehicle showed nothing spectacularly revealing: a wall of a brick make.

Charles didn't know how tall it was but he knew a wall when he saw one – he had been visiting one of the same look for the past few months after all. He hoped that it wouldn't be as tall, as confining, as that one, but dread told him it was probably the same height if not taller if it was used to keep people away.

_"Lock them up,"_ his mind supplied.

Did this mean they were going to be kept captive? Possibly. Charles wasn't a detective, but he was almost certain that if there was a wall that seemed to be built for holding something _in_ then they were certainly going to be put in it. He doubted that if they were going to be killed that it would be done here. If killing them was ever an option, it would have been done at the flat to make a statement.

_True but didn't your father get killed. I believe that makes a statement enough, yes?_

Yes, his father had paid the price for them…. A terrible price that Charles was a fool to believe could only be directed at them.

A certain stinging fought to surface on the brim of his eyes but he fought it back even harder. He wasn't going to cry again. He wouldn't give the soldiers the satisfaction of seeing him upset. He'd rather die than give them that much.

Doors opened and rough hands tugged them out with a force deeming them unworthy of a common courtesy. Oh, if only Charles wasn't on the lanky side. He might show them a thing or to – or so his pride says. Knowing him, he might only throw a single punch before being knocked out like some sissy in a bar fight. He would be unconscious and then where would that leave him? Nowhere that was where.

He couldn't be reckless anymore. Not with his mum around and being his only relative left. Recklessness might change that permanently, and he already lost his father. He couldn't – wouldn't – handle another.

The cobblestone met his feet instantly and Charles couldn't help but think this area familiar. He knew this street he thought – perhaps crossed through it a few times to get to the market – which meant they hadn't left Warsaw. Not yet. They just took a route that seemed… longer for some reason. Almost like they had done it on purpose.

Distraction? Off-setting them? Either or could work.

He jerked forward when he felt the something hard press against the square of his back – _a gun_ his mind supplied helpfully. His mum was already walking ahead of them, another soldier behind her, hand lingering at her side limply. He couldn't see her face at all but the stiffness in her shoulders was as telling as needed.

There was a certain stench of fear and indifference in the air mixed with curiosity. Charles didn't know how much was his own, his mother's, or the soldier's emotions, but he could sense the melting pot of them all.

Fear was coursing through him certainly. There wasn't any doubt about that.

But there were also the words his father told him a week ago. That things should be expected to worsen as quickly as possible. He should plan for it.

Therefore, he tried to observe every nook and cranny as they were marched in. The gates to the cage were loud as they announced their arrival, but the grounds they walked into were empty save for a few soldiers sparsely surrounding the area.

The courtyard could barely even be called that. Weeds grew sporadically through some of the cobblestone that had been mysteriously destroyed and the buildings, from what his vision allowed, where in as awful a condition as the ghetto Erik was at. There were at least doors and windows, but most of the glass had been shattered and the door knobs knocked off through force. Nothing living seemed to live in this place. No flowers or plants. There was a tree or two, but nothing that chirped or rustled in the leaves to make it look any more real.

It was as quiet as death, as silent as a foreshadow in a story, and as infinite as eternity.

They were directed to another building and this one was clearly enforced with more brick walls. _"No doubt this is important,"_ Charles thought to himself as he observed it. There were no windows and the door knob on the outside was nonexistent. There was only one way in.

The soldier knocked on the door, muttered a few words, and it opened inward to allow them in.

Everything after that was a bit of a blur, and it wasn't because of exhaustion or shock. Charles felt a sharp sting of pain in his neck, and the rest of the night slipped past him until he felt his eyes creaked open the next morning like it had just melted away. His lids opened slowly, crust fighting the way as he did so as if begging them to remain closed.

Disorientation found him completely as he tried to figure out exactly where he was. It took longer than it should have, longer than usual, to come to his bearings. In his past, because of his smart mouth that tended to find joy in mocking those who seemed to have a pedestal they didn't deserve, he had been knocked around a few times but he always came to with a good recollection of what happened, but this didn't happen. It was sluggish at best. A snail's pace.

_Where was he? Why was he sore? Why was his head stuffed with cotton?_

Too many _"whys"_ to count came to his thoughts that linked hands with _"where"_ and _"how."_ He could have played a game of twenty questions and still would have been lost.

There was a light shining in his face that was attempting to pierce past his eyelids. His head reacted with a blasting pulse of pain that made him want to curl into himself and turn away from it. He almost did so until he heard the voices.

They weren't very loud at all. Quiet little whispers that barely filtered through his head. Even through the foggy pain he could understand what was being said around him, but he had a feeling it was pure luck. He couldn't remember the words – or how to pronounce them – but a small voice murmured into his head their translations. It was weak and frail and Charles wanted to chase it, but every time he would lose it in the cotton.

_"Who is he?"_

_"Why is he here?"_

_"No. **They.** Two came here. Mother and child. Why?"_

_"Newcomers? They don't look native. Prisoners for different reason? Political prisoners?"_

_"Why are you all surrounding him? Leave him be. You are all like vultures swarming him! Let him wake up in peace."_

_"Says you, Lehnsherr, but here you are also watching over him."_

_"I'm a **mother** if I have to remind you, Collins. Obviously, any **mother** would want to make sure a harmed child was not suffering. You all remember how you all felt after the drug given, do you? I don't want to hear any lip. Give him space or so help me-" _

After that the voices died down to a minimal and then to nothing. Blissful nothing.

Charles decided this might be the best time to open his eyes. Maybe he could figure out where he was.

But when he opened his eyes, he was even more confused than before if that was even possible.

_Where was this place?_

The room was large but in incredibly bad shape. Parts of the ceiling were caving in and others had creaky beams holding it up just barely. The floors were cemented it seemed but they were covered in everything and little actual flooring was to be seen. Mattresses were strewn across the length of the room mixed in with mats of packed hay and whatever could be retrieved. There was plenty of sunlight – thank goodness – but a cold wind must have drifted in during the night because Charles could see the breath in front of him.

He was so focused on his surroundings that he didn't notice the observing woman beside him. He just about jumped out of his skin when he felt a hand rest upon his.

Immediately flinching away from the hand, he backed into a wall and met the eyes of a cautious sickly-looking woman. She had a piece of fabric surrounding her head, but strands of dark brown hair filtered out of its grasp. Dark shadows and bags nestled under her eyes, but they made her look wiser instead of dead and soulless like when he used to wander the streets. She looked tired but still lively. A refreshing sight.

Perhaps he could understand Erik a little bit when he said it was nice to have a person like Charles around. By the aura and looks alone, he could feel his muscles loosen and his stance fall from defense at the sight of this woman. She just screamed _"mother," "safety,"_ and _"here to help."_

He would have spoken German to the woman, since that was the language all of them spoke around him, but there was a headache in the back of his head. Something strongly against any attempts at the language or merely thinking altogether. It was so strong and painful that tears came to his eyes at his frustrated attempts to bypass this.

The woman was immediately alarmed and began to wave her hands around him as if unsure what to do.

Removing his hands from his head (when had he placed them there?), he gave a weak smile and shook his head at her, hoping she understood him. "Ah. No. Thank you for your concern but I'm okay. I can't… I know German I promise you. Just give…"

But she shook her head even more so as if these words were more distressing. She opened her mouth to say something but closed it. Maybe to think over her words? Did she know English? He desperately hoped so.

At last, she spoke. "No. No. Don't fight it. Won't help. The drug will make it worse," she seemed to know English but it still was a little spotty. Still, Charles was relieved to find someone who knew it.

Taking her advice, he stopped fighting the pain in the back of his skull and it numbed to a faint hum.

She seemed to calm down as soon as she realized he had ceased his attempts. Charles wondered how she knew in the first place. She wasn't a mind reader. Those didn't exist.

"Excuse me for asking, but how did you know I was in pain?"

She was quick to respond, much to Charles's surprise, in a honest and open fashion. "My son. He felt the same pain for long time after we came here. Better to not fight it. Hurts less."

So she hadn't experienced it herself then but her son? Maybe he could meet him? It would be nice to have someone he could relate to but not being able to speak German may be problematic. The drug, whatever it was, was enclosing his mind to only his first-born language and not much over-thinking save for small trail of thoughts. It was as if it was trying to restrict his mind.

He didn't like it needless to say.

It was like shutting off his DNA. He wanted to fight it with every fiber of his being but if being complacent would make it be less bothersome then… maybe he could be patient for a little bit.

Still, he didn't like the thought of it only helping it hurt less. It didn't mean it went away altogether. Charles didn't know about anyone else, but his mind was his most prized bodily possession and not being able to go to it was… off-setting.

Rubbing his temples, he sighed dragged his knees to his chest, resting his chin atop them as he watched the woman in front of him. She hadn't said a word since her last response. She was being patient with him – might have gone through this with every child considering how much she was determined to make sure he was okay.

"Who are you?"

"Edie Lehnsherr." Her smile was soft like a morning sunrise. It wasn't frail like her form depicted. Charles decided rather quickly that he liked this woman; almost as fast as he realized he liked Erik. "And you?"

"Charles Xavier. I… I'm sorry. I really must apologize to you. I know German I swear, for I learned it for someone, but for the life of me I cannot remember any of it because of the drug given to me you mentioned. This must be so difficult for you. I truly am-" He didn't finish for the woman – Edie – placed a finger to his lips and shushed him. Her eyes crinkled at the edges in amusement – a quiet little joke to herself maybe.

"Don't be sorry. It's okay. It will be fine."

_It will be fine._

Wasn't that an echo of the past if he ever heard one.

But he shushed obediently like she told him to. He wasn't about to be a nuisance to her after how he left Erik. He was better than that. Older, more mature. He had to act his age.

Edie chuckled softly and scooted over to sit next to him. She mimicked Charles's position as she looked out at the window across the room. She only had a thin looking jumper on with a dress that reached her knees. She was practically skin and bone but she didn't shiver under this cold at all. She just smiled and looked ahead as if nothing could deter her good mood.

_I used to be that optimistic. I should try to be again. She has faced worse and still smiles and laughs. I can most certainly do the same. It's the least I can do._

He was so focused on trying to be optimistic that he nearly jumped out of his skin (again much to his embarrassment) when he felt her hand grab his and give it a squeeze. It reminded him of his mother that was still nowhere to be seen.

"Excuse me, I… don't know if you will know this, but where is my mother? She came here with me and I haven't seen her yet. I am worried."

She nodded knowingly. "She awoke earlier than you. Told her they would deliver rations today. She left. Yet to return."

"Oh. Okay." Charles remained quiet for approximately fifteen seconds before the curiosity was too much to bear. "If you don't mind me asking, where exactly is this place? Or what is it at least?"

"Ghetto." Another word Charles knew from the past. _Was it like where Erik is at? Are there multiple ghettos? If one is awful enough, why would you make a multitude of them?_ "We are to stay here until they decide what to do with us."

Charles let out a quiet "oh" at that. _Until they decide what to do with us._ It made it sound like this place was full of rubbish rather than people. How utterly disgusting! How could people think of other individuals – living, _breathing_ , fighting people – as that? The mere thought of it riled Charles up and it took all his willpower to not began the rant he wished to tell this woman.

Obviously, she probably felt the same otherwise her smile wouldn't have turned sour as if she took a bite of a lemon rather than talked about a place.

"How many live here?"

"If this is living then none. As prisoners? I've lost count."

"And what-"

Charles was about to ask more when he heard footsteps echo into the room. He turned, expecting to see his mother, but instead he saw a boy. Well, perhaps not quite a boy. He was more like a teenager, closer to an adult than a boy. His face was long and he had a jaw square and set in stone, but the second his eyes saw his mother, his eyes seemed to soften and a smile came as easy as breathing. He was fairly muscular and tall – something Charles was envious of.

He didn't know who this boy was, but he could assume it was Edie's son. The one she told him about.

She was speaking German to him and he felt like he could understand – since he was able to translate what was said around him at first – but at this moment he couldn't understand a thing and only heard his name mentioned amongst the hard syllables and accents.

The boy's face went slack with surprise and then carefully blank as he walked over to Charles. He kneeled in front of him and observed him carefully, looking for something it seemed. Charles was afraid to breathe in his presence for it seemed almost as tense as an exam, however, the close proximity was rather uncomfortable and he didn't take kindly to the intrusion.

"May I help you?"

Just like that he backed off as if stung. A few words were muttered and his mother seemed to shoot him a glare as he stalked off out of the building. Charles stared after him in confusion before looking to Edie. What did he do? Was it against some rule to speak English? He hadn't the slightest idea, and it ate at him and his conscious that he possibly did something _rude_ and didn't even know it.

"Did I say something wrong?"

She said something lowly under her breath before she sighed and looked at Charles. "I'm sorry. My son is not good with people."

"He seemed to be looking for something. Do I know him?"

"Do you?" She asked vaguely, a smile playing at the corner of her lips.

He was about to prod further about the angry looking boy, but his mother had walked in at that moment. In her hand was a piece of bread. She handed him a piece and walked away to one of the mattresses to lay down. _"Best to savor it while you can, Charles. You won't get as much food anymore like we used to at home."_

He simply stared at the loaf and ate it quietly, Edie having walked off probably after her son.

He couldn't help but think the voice sounded familiar. The boy, her son, it sounded so familiar but the tone was too soft and he couldn't hear it clearly. It was like hearing an echo and a part of his mind screamed at him, but it was still the same part that was being drugged with pain and sharp stabs of something keeping him back.

He knew the boy. He had to.

_But who was he?_

…..

_Daily Herald_

_June 11, 1940_

_**QUICK CHANGES IN ROOSEVELT SPEECH** _

_**President Roosevelt's "very important announcement" on the war, hastily planned during the week-end, had to be quickly revised last night.** _

_Mussolini's declaration of war on the Allies made several alterations necessary._

_The President had also to take into account the appeal to the United States, which M. Reynaud issued yesterday._

_The French Prime Minister, in an interview with a representative of the Scripps-Howard news-papers, is quoted as saying –_

_"In this age of high-speed motorized divisions of planes and tanks, faith and courage alone do not suffix – that is why our need for American help is so urgent."_

_President Roosevelt's speech was delivered early this morning (British Summer Time) as the graduation ceremony at the University of Virginia, where his son Franklin is completing his law studies._

_It was re-broadcast in several languages._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will explain real quick in case there is confusion: Charles's power is obvious (of course he doesn't know it yet) and it aids in him learning quicker such as languages. The drug given to him and everyone who enters this ghetto is to restrict any abilities (Shaw is aware of mutants remember?). It is not advanced enough to restrict it precisely, but it chooses a general surface area in which case this took a majority of Charles's concept on languages, such as German. He can speak English, since it was his first language, but anything after that (until the drug wears off) is spectacularly hard to retrieve.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles didn't know what he did wrong to Edie's son, but the young man/boy/immature child was practically avoiding him like the plague.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Like I said before, I have two chapters. I also got some news. I may be working on this story with a friend of mine. She is an excellent writer in my personal opinion so I think it will be obvious when you get super good chapters and then my crappy ones. But she is as busy as I am and I still need to catch her up to speed on the story, so I don't know when she will begin. I guess I will post it here when I get a chapter from her. :)
> 
> This is a long chapter. I apologize. I meant for maybe 6000 words and it ended up being sooo much longer.
> 
> Enjoy!

Chapter 5

Charles didn't know _what_ he did wrong to Edie's son, but the young man/boy/ _immature child_ was practically avoiding him like the plague.

To say it was disconcerting was just the tip of the iceberg. Edie told him that her son didn't talk to people well, but this wasn't really talking, now was it? Talking involved, well, actually saying words verbally to a person, preferably face-to-face for starters! None of this running off and making muttered excuses to not at least say a proper hello. Charles never actually _heard_ his voice either, and he didn't know if it was on purpose or not! This wasn't conversing at all. This was plain rejection if Charles had any experience in it.

The boy eluded him whenever he could – finding the most preposterous excuses that Edie only seemed to scold him for later on in that hushed, stern tone only mothers seemed to have.

Still, it didn't make things any better. He had been there for almost a week now and her son was as cold to him as when he first arrived – a blizzard that sent shivers through any room he was in.

It was like he couldn't stand Charles; couldn't even fathom his existence. He wasn't just awful at conversation but at just being in the same _room_ as the confused 15-year-old for longer than necessary. At first, Charles thought he might have done something wrong. Maybe the boy was jealous because he was close to his mum. Maybe he didn't like his origins. There must have been some reason as to why he refused to converse with Charles, but the 15-year-old couldn't for the life of him begin to think of it.

Edie told him to be patient. He needed to be patient with her son because he seemed to be misunderstanding something. She didn't have to be specific for Charles to assume it was about him.

But what was there to misunderstand? He was just another prisoner who happened to be in this ghetto. He had never met the boy, and even though he felt this tug that said otherwise he couldn't even begin to think where he met such a hardened soul in his life! Had he smiled to him on the street and the boy took it the wrong way? Was there some secret code he had violated? A secret handshake he had to learn for God's sake?

It was infuriating Charles to no end, and he couldn't talk to anyone about it. If this had happened before all of this – before he came here –, he would have stormed off to the wall and ranted to Erik about this prat of a boy who seemed to haughty to even look at Charles. What nerve did he have to judge Charles on the spot? None! A part of him wanted to stomp right up to the pompous git and give him a piece of his mind.

He had lost his father. He was losing his mother through grief and general shock. He did _not_ need someone else making his life harder than it had to be at this moment.

If Edie hadn't told him to be patient with her son, to not take anything personally and just give him time, he might have scoffed at the mere thought of them being any more than instant rivals of some test he was unaware of.

Charles was naturally a patient person to people. He could wait and wait while they found words they were unsure of, and he could just sit there or be there without doing or saying anything if that was what was needed. But this boy was severely testing him and almost making him a liar on the matter.

Sitting against the wall of the very room he woke up in a few days ago, he picked up a small piece of concrete and threw it as hard as he could across the expanse of the room, watching as it didn't even touch the other wall and sighed as he stared at the cot in front of him.

There was a thin figure curled up into a ball on it. A blanket had been found somewhere and had been thrown a top of her. Blond hair had quickly lost their curls and only held a faint wave that shined from the lack of hygiene available to them. She still wore the clothing she came here in but it was wrinkled now and not at all as pristine. She looked less like the model of society and more like an artifact of what once was.

Eyes stared ahead at the window but they were blank. Too blank to be counted as living.

_"If this is living, then none."_

Edie's voice came back to him as he reached out to slowly grasp his mother's cold fingers. She didn't even react to the touch, simply blinking and continuing to stare out the window towards the sun that decided to show itself today. It was still chilly but at least she was in a warmer part today. She had been sniffling and Charles was worried she was taking to a cold.

He didn't realize how hard it was to get medicine or _anything_ of that matter until he arrived here. No wonder Erik was so surprised when Charles presented him with the medicine for his mother.

Speaking of her, was she doing better now? Or at least, was she suffering less? Charles hoped so. He hoped Erik's mum was lively and well and not at the state that his mother was unfortunately at.

It was such an odd state, what his mother was in. It just… came all of a sudden.

His mother was here the first and second day, but after that a force hit her and she just receded into herself. She wouldn't acknowledge him when he sat next to her and called her name. He tried _"mother," "mum,"_ even _"Sharon"_ to get a quirk of the lip, a smile, _something_ but she remained a statue. He would place their rations in front of her – not nearly enough as to what they should be given to be remotely healthy – and some days he would leave and come back to find it gone. Other days it would be left there and he would have to watch it to make sure no one else took it – just in case she got hungry later.

Charles assumed it was mourning. She was mourning and grieving the loss of his father and her husband. Charles didn't go through it much except for at night when he would look at his mother when she finally closed her eyes and seemed to relax. Only then, when he curled up beside his mother, did he think of his father and allow the emotions to consume him.

But he was different. He hadn't had the time to lounge and think it over too hard, couldn't allow the past to tap him on the shoulder and say hello. He was far too busy advancing, moving forward, trying to solve his own problems so he didn't end up like his father.

He… didn't know why his mother was like this, though. It was all speculation. She wouldn't talk to him or look at him. It was as if she was away from reality, and Charles was still debating if that was a blessing or a curse. Perhaps both.

The only times he left his mother's side was when Edie would walk in and ask him to help her with something. Sometimes it was going to the bathrooms that were still usable and washing clothing. Other times it was cleaning the room so the floor was less dusty and grimy than before. She never allowed him to rest and constantly talked about her son through all of it. It wasn't a stretch to see that she was proud of her boy and the way she talked about him made Charles smile.

Clearly her son wasn't usually this stoic and cold. In fact, he could actually vouch for this. Charles had seen it firsthand how kind her son could be. Just the other day he had passed through the courtyard and saw the boy sit cross-legged in a circle of children as he messed with a piece of metal from something or another. Charles couldn't watch completely, for he was afraid if he inched closer the boy would get icy immediately and ruin the show he was performing for the children, but the end result was beautiful. It was a little crown that looked like the _Celtics_ that Charles had learned back home.

So her son was a good, nice person… but not to Charles.

He tried not to let it get to him. He was usually too busy to think over it too hard and with the headache from the first day still being ever present, he couldn't stray far with his source of understanding being so drastically restricted.

Edie was right. Not focusing on what was taken from him made the pain numb to a buzz, but it still didn't give him any of the information back. Sometimes when he heard conversation flow around him, he would hear a tiny voice tell him what they may be saying and he would catch it, but most of the time he was left in the dark.

It was definitely a barrier for her son who seemed to know only German (or at least that was all his mum spoke to him). With this wall inside an already obscure wall, the boy was as far from understanding Charles as possible. To be honest, he didn't know what to do. Waiting seemed to be a peachy idea so far, but how long would that work?

After the twentieth time of squeezing his mother's hand in hope of a response, he finally let go and covered it up with the blanket. Standing, he dusted off his trousers and stretched the muscles that complained from sitting far too long on the concrete surface.

"I'm going to go for a walk, mother. I will be back by dinner time like usual." And, as usual, he got no response. Another thing he tried not to let get to him.

He left the building and headed straight for the wall, doing his usual rounds of checking for any chink in the brick armor. The guards that usually roamed and patrolled the walls watched him wearily, weapons at ready should he prove to be troublesome. He wouldn't – not yet.

His hands traced the brick, raising and falling as he left the bustling courtyard to the portion of the ghetto behind the living quarters. It was a messy little area, not at all close to the attempt of looking nice as the courtyard had. Stacked boxes and crates and broken materials were scattered across back there and it took nimble feet to not hurt oneself.

Nevertheless, it was usually empty and quiet. That was the reason Charles liked to go there. He was allowed to think and, even though he promised Edie he wouldn't try to fight the drug, he felt he had to try, and this was the perfect spot to do so. Not many people came here since they were a more social sort here. If he was to cry of the pain and curl up at the shocks that shot at his head, no one would know the better.

Just the way he liked it. Nobody needed to get involved.

He reached the fence that had a few boards removed to make the entrance to his little hiding spot. Climbing over the debris, he made his way over to a small cranny made from wooden beams being positioned against the brick buildings of their living quarters – probably from ceilings that had collapsed before he arrived. It was small, but it hid him well enough.

Fingers found themselves pointing at his temples, the pointer finger pressing them gently as the rest of his fingers simply rested against his cheek. He closed his eyes and clenched his teeth as he pictured his mind – the palace he once told Erik.

_Now, where was he?_

The door was there. The large entrance door that would lead to the parlor and all the intricate hallways and doors. What he needed to do was get in there but it was surrounded by a moat of thickened fog that made everything lost and hard to see. If he could just _imagine_ a bridge, he would be able to reach it but each attempt had left him hissing with wet eyes and a bleeding nose.

But he had to try again. Again and again until he could get it right. There must be a reason this was affecting him. He already knew it wasn't affecting his mother and as far as he knew, only certain people had the same pain he had; it just never was in the same place.

Edie told him that her son's was in his head as well but also his hands. _"My son, he couldn't move his fingers for a few weeks. It made him upset. He couldn't think. He couldn't use his hands. He is good with his hands, you know. Very good. But at that time they were nothing."_

How had he gotten past it, then? Charles eventually asked this question after seeing Erik make the headband for the children and she gave a rueful little grin.

_"He didn't. He feels pain still but refuses to listen to it. Won't let it stop him. Stubborn boy."_ Well, he had to agree with her on that with how adamant he was to completely avoid Charles.

In saying what she did, Charles realized that the pain may not go away for a long time. Edie had been there with her son for a while now – Charles was afraid to ask out of rudeness – and the boy still felt the pain. But he fought it. That was the key. He was still able to use his hands out of sheer will power.

Certainly, Charles could do the same, correct?

Clenching his teeth, Charles attempted once again the create the same bridge. He kept imagining the solid brick bridge he wanted to build over the moat to the doors but the fog bit at his imagination and he could feel warm trickles slip past his cheeks.

Yet he pushed on. He _had_ to. He was a Xavier. They didn't give up. He couldn't afford to either.

So he tried again and again and again until he lost track of time outside his own head. At one point he thought he heard someone shuffle into the area he was in, but Charles knew they wouldn't be able to find him in the crevice so he continued to ignore it. At another moment, he thought he might have heard his name but he fought against it because he knew that voice – he knew that voice all too well and knew that it wasn't here. _He_ wasn't here.

It wasn't until he felt strong hands grab his wrists and yank them away from his temples did his eyes snap open.

There, crouching awkwardly in his little crevice, was Edie's son. His eyes were wide with a certain concerned shock as he looked at Charles's face. His hands shook slightly as they kept the 15-year-old's hands away from his temples, as if fearing he would try again.

_"Would he tell Edie?"_ Was the first thought that came to his mind oddly enough. Not why the boy was there. Not how he knew he was there. Not why he wasn't shoving Charles away like he usually did when the boy got too close the teen. For some reason, none of those _rational_ questions didn't come to him immediately.

"I… I," he started but no words came out. He didn't know what to say. He had never seen her son this close except for the first day and on that day the boy had given nothing short of a total disregard. Now, he was focused solely on Charles and there was worry in his eyes. Actual worry!

Which was different. Everything was different. This wasn't the cold boy but the one who made the crown for the children. This was the son Edie loved dearly. What did Charles do to thaw his ice demeanor at last?

A yank at his wrists caused him to wince and he realized that his hands were automatically trying to reach his temples again.

"Stop it. Stop this." _That voice._

"E-Eh? Excuse me?" Charles quipped indigently, feeling something beginning to nudge him in the back of his head. He knew that voice. He thought he did. "What do you mean stop it? I'm not doing anything. I was simply hiding here for some alone time. I'm sure you would-"

"Trying to regain function. Stop. Hurting yourself." He definitely knew that voice but his mind couldn't comprehend it. It couldn't think that this boy was _him_. It couldn't be. It was impossible.

The connections to _him_ went back into the part of his head that had been restricted. Forcing the connection alone was bringing the headache and he doubt this boy would be pleased if he knew what Charles was trying to do. But he had to make the connection – he had to be sure. One-hundred percent.

"I'm _not_ hurting myself." Charles scoffed at the idea but saw the boy's – Erik's? – hand come up and wipe something from his eyes. He was absolutely still as the finger removed itself and stopped in front of Charles's gaze.

On his finger was certainly not clear tears but a dark-pink drop as if blood had been mixed in.

"You are hurting yourself," he confirmed quietly, and Charles might have continued to fight the thought that he was harming himself _(Really. He knew his body more than anyone. He would know if he was hurting himself)_ if that voice didn't hit him so hard. If what he had said before didn't cause his conscious to connect the two, hearing that soft voice surely did. He knew that voice. He _knew_ this person.

The connection between the fog and his limited thinking had been made.

_"It will be okay."_

Yes, he definitely knew this voice and he definitely knew this person. This person who had been kind and patient to him in voice and cold and distant to him in person.

Wasn't he his friend? Why would he have done this? It was… ridiculous! Utterly so! There was no explanation Charles could think of that would make what had happened almost an entire week rational or logical or just… He didn't know. There must be a reason. There had to be, but Charles couldn't think of it and all that consumed him was hurt and fury instead of the patient person that would wait for an explanation.

Smacking the hand away, Charles backed away from the crevice and began to stalk off, anger piling quickly as he pulled the sleeve of his shirt to wipe away the tears and bloody nose he no doubt had.

How could he? He knew. He must have known. That this was the person he had conversed with the entire time, the same person who gave him the medicine for his mother – for Edie! He heard Charles's voice _first_ before Charles even had a clear glance of his own. _Was this why he never heard his voice?_

Erik wasn't an idiot. The…the _prat_ knew from the first day he arrived and he didn't even attempt to help him – to maybe continue their friendship that Charles at least felt was so damn important.

He was almost to the fence when he felt a hand grab his wrist once again and forced him to turn towards the person who owned it.

And there was Erik, seemingly lost. _Well, I had been lost as well for the past week. It seems we could have both avoided this if you hadn't completely bloody **ignored** our friendship! _ His eyes were still wide and his mouth was slightly agape as he stared at Charles. There was a certain pain in his eyes, a plea of some kind, but Charles didn't have the patience to deal with this.

He promised Edie he would be patient, but this was asking too much. It was simply asking too much at this specific time. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe next week. Maybe, if he could find a good way to vent, in a few hours he could face this but right now? There wasn't a single possibility.

"Let me go, Erik."

"Charles," he attempted.

"No," he snapped at him. "You _knew_ who I was. You knew and all you did was distance yourself from me. What does that tell me, Erik?" He was so angry, so furious at the betrayal that he didn't even pause to consider that Erik may not understand all that he was saying. "Did you know that I actually wanted to hear your voice? When we were forced from our home, when _my father got killed_ , and all I wanted was to hear your voice because it seemed to always make things better?"

Erik must have understood a majority of it because he actually had the audacity to look ashamed and guilty.

But Charles wasn't finished. He ripped his hand from Erik's grip and jabbed his finger at his chest, simmering with all the pent up distress and anguish he had to keep low for the sake of everyone. "Why do you avoid me? Why didn't you come talk to me? If I had done something wrong, you could have just told me, and I would have learned! I would have made sure not to have done it again and we could have gotten past all this mess but instead you leave it up to my imagination. Wasn't it you who said the imagination was a dangerous place? Well? If that's the case, why did you leave it to me?"

Laughter bubbled out of his throat but it was humorless and almost hysterical. He looked to the sky and to the sun that just happened to hide behind the clouds like it couldn't watch what was transpiring. _Me neither, good friend. I wish I could join you for just this moment._

"You are so full of contradictions! You say you're my friend but _friends don't leave other friends alone when they are hurt._ They help them. I would have helped you in a heartbeat if your mum had gone through the same fate as my father! That disappearing act you pulled all the time? Avoiding me and refusing to even acknowledge me to the point that people around the ghetto might have assumed I had done something _wrong to you_ had your mother not taken to me." He felt a familiar sting of tears, but he didn't know if they were from the headache or from his own emotions. "I wouldn't have done that to you. If I couldn't have done it to you, my best and closest friend, how dare you do that to me?"

He quickly wiped away the tears that spilled over and bit his lower lip as he glared at Erik, but Erik seemed at a loss for words. Did he understand? His English was almost as spotty as his mum's and Charles didn't even think of it when he ranted to him.

It was okay. He didn't know if it really mattered that Erik understood. He just needed to get it off his chest and to push it away so it wouldn't crush him.

"How could you have done that? What did I do to deserve that?" The grieving 15-year-old whispered faintly. At those words, Erik seemed to break under his gaze and had to look away for a moment. His eyes closed and he muttered a few German words under his breath before looking up again.

"Wasn't your fault."

Charles paused, breathing heavily as the anger came down to a low boil. "Pardon?"

Erik was hesitant before he continued. "It wasn't your fault. Mine. I… lied to you. Said everything would be okay. But you are here." _You are here with in this awful place._

Disbelief replaced anger in a flash. Disbelief and a small portion of shame and guilt. Don't get him wrong – he was still immensely angry with Erik. For not talking to him. For treating him as he did.

Still, he couldn't help but feel ashamed for at least not allowing him to speak. He went straight to accusing him. What happened to the patient person he was terribly proud of?

Rubbing his temples, he ignored the residual headache pulsing in his head. It would be there for the next few hours until he ate or slept. It always happened after his fruitless attempts.

He felt his anger slow down as the adrenaline-fueled desperation left him. He was just hurt. That was what this was. He had never experienced it before, never had a person who could do this to him. He had a feeling that he would have to get used to it.

"Erik, it's not your fault. You couldn't have predicted this. No one could have. Don't blame yourself for my misfortunes. They are but minuscule, my friend." He dropped his hands and met Erik's gaze. "But please understand this: I simply cannot forgive you immediately. You must know this. You told me I could trust you and I was under the impression that our friendship may have actually meant something important to you as well as I. The way you acted completely betrayed that. I need… I need a day to think." _To collect my thoughts of what exactly just happened._

Erik took a step back and Charles could see his face begin to close off as he nodded. His hands were still shaking, fingers curled in slightly as if wanting to clench into a fist. Whether it was the pain or emotion Charles didn't know and didn't want to stay to ask.

Turning his back on his friend, Charles walked between the gap in the fence and traced his way back to his mother's cot, grabbing the rations for the next few days on the way.

When he returned to his mother, he sat on the edge of the cot and separated the food. He set aside the food for his mother beside her head. Maybe when the sun set she would see it and be hungry. He hoped so. She didn't eat the day before and she was already thin before all of this.

Taking a bite of the stale bread, he grimaced but ignored the flavor. It was food. He really shouldn't be picky.

He finished the entire piece with little splendor and pulled his cot closer to hers, laying out on it. The sun was almost asleep outside, its final rays just on the horizon. Usually, he would sit next to his mother and watch the sunset with her, noting how beautiful the colors were that evening or just making a small note that it was night time.

But this time he was tired. So very tired. A part of him wanted to talk to Edie and demand why she didn't just tell him about Erik, but he knew that she probably had a good motivation at heart. She probably wanted them to sort it out themselves. That was what his intuition told him.

_Wait._

Charles stopped his thinking and forced himself to go back to the palace, his palace. In his imagination of the drug, the foggy moat had lessened significantly. It was still there, still waiting to snap at Charles's attempts, but it was not as vicious and intimidating as before. His intuition had returned. It was weak and it didn't react as quickly and readily, but it was there unlike the entirety of the past week alone. It actually seemed _possible_ now to toss away the pain if he tried more.

But what had changed?

Opening his eyes, he thought of Erik.

_Was he the one?_

_No. That would be silly. He didn't do much. You must have broken through finally with your attempts. Yes, that must be it._

Pursing his lips, he shrugged it off with the nonchalance of exhaustion and looked at the window just in time to see the last blip of light leave the radar of his vision.

"It's night time, mother. Please eat something."

She slowly slid her vision to the food, almost as if she was groggy with sleep and sluggish rather than… what she was. He waited patiently as she dragged the piece of bread over and ate it gradually. When it was finished, Charles let out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding.

"Thank you," he whispered but his mother didn't hear him. She had already closed her eyes and was far, far away.

_Could he tell her? Tell her about Erik?_

"I… I met…" _No. No he couldn't._ The words stuck in his throat and he found it impossible to tell a secret he had long kept from her. It wouldn't make much of a difference save for a peace of mind that he wasn't hiding anything from her. "Good night. Please sleep well and have pleasant dreams, where ever you go."

Nothing replied to him but he knew that would be the case and curled up into a ball, preparing for a long night of restless slumber.

…

Someone was shaking his shoulder.

It was _very_ annoying. This person must not value their life currently speaking.

Actually, perhaps they just don't register time. Or the meaning of it and sleep.

No, this person must not aware of these at all. This person seemed very insistent on waking him despite the fact that it still seemed to be night (the lack of a headache being a full on blessing _at least_ ) and possibly late into it at that. It might have been past midnight but not nearly early enough that the sun was ready to rise.

So, in other words, it was sleeping time. A time that this intruder didn't seem to understand.

Charles batted the hand away and curled away from It, but after a minute it continued once again.

Who could _possibly_ be up this late? Who didn't value the sleep they should enjoy while it lasted? It certainly wasn't Charles for he very much wanted to sleep off the day he had and actually wake up a bit refreshed and ready to deal with the friend he wasn't sure of anymore. He went to bed early for a reason, but this hand and the owner apparently didn't get the letter that stated this.

Don't get him wrong, Charles didn't mind being woken up if someone needed him. He was more than willing to help, however, with the stress and need to take a break from everything, he truly wanted nothing more than one night of normalcy. Restless nights have hit him hard ever since he came here and this was probably the first night he actually finally dipped into sleep.

But he was complaining. Complaining when he should have known better.

When the individual refused to cease after two more long minutes (Charles counted them out one by one), Charles let out a sigh and turned to face the intruder of his sleep. He could feel his eyes narrow in a glare. _If looks could kill_ rang into his head immediately, almost as if sighing wishfully.

"Yes? May I help you?"

The hand remained suspended in the air for a moment before coming to Erik's lips. Ah. Charles understood. Follow quietly. Mum's the word.

"No." Charles turned over to lay on the cot once again but Erik grabbed his forearm.

"Please. Show you something."

Show him something? What on earth could he have to show him at this hour? And why couldn't it have waited until morning. Charles surely would have been nicer to him than he was now. Hell, he might have followed along in an instant – the anger having drifted off somewhere in the night leaving just a numbing sense of betrayal and uncertainty.

Was it that important? Dire even?

Charles didn't know and that was what caused him to break. He didn't know. Erik might be in trouble. He might have found something that could help them. He might just want to… talk or something. It could be anything and Charles was, even with what had happened, a friend to him. He would be there if Erik needed it – and perhaps even if he didn't.

That was what got to him.

Well, not completely if he were to be honest. Curiosity was also causing the gears in his head to turn. Wondering and questioning and imagining dangerous possibilities but that was beside the point.

Narrowing his eyes, Charles sighed. "Fine. I get it. Lead the way."

He tip-toed around the cots, using the light from the windows to guide his silent steps. Erik was nimble, slipping through each of them almost as if he had done it all his life. Like he was practically an expert at being stealthy. If it wasn't for the fact that Charles was currently not amused at being woken at _God knows what time_ he might have been moderately impressed.

They jumped from shadow to shadow to avoid the guards' avid watch on their camp until they reached the fenced off area. The guards rarely patrolled this area so it made sense that Erik would show him whatever it was here. It was the perfect spot. Unlikely to hold anything to an untrained eye.

Of course, this only made Charles's imagination reach new depths. His intuition, in the faintest whisper, told him Erik was nervous though which lessened it significantly. What could Erik show him that would leave the boy nervous? Was it that bad? Or good?

It was absolutely quiet and the night was only getting colder. Charles hugged himself and tried to bury his hands to keep them from growing numb. Was the shirt too big on him now? Back home his clothing tended to be a little large in certain areas, but now they certainly were. He must have lost a few kilos from their awful rations. That wasn't good. It wouldn't help keep the warmth he desperately wanted.

Erik beside him was fine. His back straight and his eyes on high alert. It was as if he wasn't affected with how nonchalant he was to the breath visibly showing with each exhale. Perhaps his well-built frame was more muscle than not and that was why? Or maybe he was used to it? Whatever it was, Charles was envious of him and felt shorter than he usually felt from the burrowing into himself for warmth.

He didn't know if he made a noise or muttered something, but eventually Erik glanced over at him and shuffled a little closer until they bumped shoulders every so often. Charles looked up but Erik continued to look ahead, breathing into his palms every so often as he glanced wearily around him.

The boy next to him was practically a furnace! He radiated heat off of him as if he was a sun on his own and Charles could feel his shivers lessen their strength.

He felt a _"thank you"_ building on his tongue, but he couldn't quite utter it.

_He's being nice, you git. The least you can do is say thank you to him._

"Thank you," he said at last, removing his hands from under his arms to rub them together and bring back feeling. "It is cold tonight, isn't it?"

"Yes, but it will get colder." Well, wasn't what lovely? Charles could feel his bones shiver at the threat of the weather. For the moment, he wished he was a bear or some kind of cat perhaps that could have fur to keep him warm throughout this.

Over time, even with Erik's furnace-like warmth, he felt the cold seep in, but Charles continued to follow Erik's steps with his own, rubbing his hands up in down his sides to generate some semblance of warmth. He was freezing at this point (or at least the half of him away from Erik). Glaring up at the star-lit sky, he dared for it to start showering them in snow. It was cold enough for it. All they needed was a little rain.

But no white fluffs fell. It remained still and silent, a breeze ruffling his hair and numbing his nose with each whisper.

Erik passed the beams Charles liked to hide behind and led them around a corner of crates. Charles's curiosity peaked at this, having never felt the need to wander past this point. He had other things on his mind at the time after all – like regaining his mind that was locked away from him. It never quite came to him that there might be more behind it.

And there definitely was. By that, Charles meant more wooden beams and more debris that seemed to have been tossed out with disuse or just from not being wanted anymore.

Charles felt a snarky comment coming on but fought this. He had a feeling his sarcasm might not be appreciated by Erik – one because he might not understand it and two because it takes a certain person to appreciate his specific snark. After all, he had been on the receiving end of a few punches and slaps one too many times for this same mouth and judging by Erik's hands, he didn't want those to be directed at him.

He was his friend but friends still reacted poorly to things they didn't think as entertaining as the other.

So he instead sighed and didn't utter a word until they stopped in front of a wooden board leaning heavily against the brick wall. It was double the size of a typical door, but it was clearly withering down and weak from the weather or abuse. Why had Erik stopped in front of this? Is _this_ what he wanted to show him?

"Ah. Yes. A _wood board_ against a brick wall. I appreciate the structure and color. It is absolutely _fascinating_ , my good friend." This time he didn't have time to fight against the comment on his tongue. "I am honestly quite glad that you woke me up to see this lovely wooden slab. My day is so much better – or rather – the night since, you know, I am not sleeping."

Erik rolled his eyes and scoffed at Charles in return to which he grinned a little despite himself.

Walking around the board, Erik seemed to be gauging the best way to move it. It was rather large and even if Erik was muscular and more than likely stronger than Charles gave him credit for, he didn't know if Erik would be able to push it on his own. It could be dangerous. It might get him hurt and Charles didn't want that – even if he was a little bitter about his sleep.

But Erik seemed determined if his eyes were anything to go by. "Stand back."

Following the instruction, Charles took a few steps back and watched as Erik gripped his teeth and pushed the wooden board up. He wasn't, however, pushing it away or sliding it against the wall. Just a little _off_ of it as if he planned to move it back into that exact spot when he was done.

Leaning in to see the small space Erik made, Charles was surprised to see a door. Well, not a normal door, but those that led to a basement of some kind. Erik motioned with his head for Charles to open it and he didn't hesitate to rush over, yanking on the handles to pull open the stiff doors. Afterward, Charles descended, still holding the door open as Erik slowly descended, replacing the wooden board back against the wall to where all Charles saw when they closed the basement doors was a piece of wood.

His vision met a pitch black darkness and he instinctively reached out to meet a surface and found skin instead. Wrapping his fingers around it, he held on tightly, assuming it to be Erik's wrist or perhaps his arm.

It wasn't because he was scared ( _because he wasn't!_ ) but because he didn't know where he was going and with no light in this underground lair or whatever it was, there was little to no chance his eyes would adjust. A friend system had to be in order, and Erik, like it or not, was his closest friend to be a victim of this.

Erik didn't seem to mind, though, and simply tugged his hand forward when they started moving again. He seemed to know where he was going which made Charles wonder just how often Erik came down here.

Now all the bitterness was gone and curiosity was brimming on the edge of a very large glass. He liked his sleep – he truly did because it was a nice thing to have – but this was different. This was new. Charles hadn't experienced much that he could say was new in this place. He didn't realize he missed it until now; that little kick of knowledge.

And above all? It was a _secret._

That immediately made things ten times better. Everyone liked knowing a secret someone else didn't know; that is, if it was not harmful. But this wasn't! At least, Charles hoped not.

Erik didn't seem the sort to have a basement of skeletons. That possibility Charles could gratefully release from his options but that only left an infinite amount more. What could be there? A lair? A secret base? A treasure? Granted the last choice was silly and not useful at all, it still would have been cool! He was still a kid and those who didn't get curious about these sorts of things must not have an imagination to praise!

"Thinking too much," Erik murmured though Charles could hear the smile in his voice. He was amused. Erik said that last time he was this quiet. Was it that telling?

"Well, what do you expect? You're leading me down a dark, mysterious path to a place I have never known nor been to before. It's like a scene out of a story! I'd be a fool not be a little curious and I'm not a fool." He felt his words speed up as he spoke, the excitement grabbing him by his mind and making it race. "Where are you taking me, Erik? Can't you tell me a hint?"

A chuckle rang out into the hall they were still going through. There was no light still but he had a feeling Erik may be one of those smiling sort that show their teeth completely and honestly when they smiled. It was a redeeming quality. Nice.

"You'll see eventually, Charles. Be patient."

"Be patient he says," he muttered in retaliation, sulking at the lack of information.

Nothing else was said for a while until Charles happened to look up from where he assumed walls to be to see a light shining in the distance. Well, not quite shining per say. It was more like a sliver at about ground level. Nevertheless, it still glowed brightly and fanned out against the dirt flooring.

"Is that it?" Charles had to ask. He was practically bouncing on the toes of his feet, and if it wasn't for his mother's continuous voice telling him _it is rude to impatiently bound ahead of others_ , Charles would have tugged Erik to make him walk just a little bit faster. To the 15-year-old boy, Erik was walking at such a slow pace that it might as well contend with syrup or molasses. Didn't he have any more speeds than slow and stop? "Tell me, Erik. Is that where we are going?"

"Yes, Charles. That is where we are going."

_About time!_ Charles's conscious screamed in delight.

All of his anger that was directed at Erik from before hadn't been forgotten (he wasn't that shallow), but it was definitely a little bit resolved with this. It was silly to use a secret to make Charles like Erik once again, but if it had been Erik's plan all along, then it was working absolutely splendidly. After all, Charles, above everything else, adored learning new things. Granted he had always been more of a science person – you can't have a scientist as a father and not be curious about it – anything could spark his interest if set _just right._

And this? This was _just right._

Once they reached the door, Charles waited impatiently as Erik reached out and twisted the knob, opening it slowly.

Charles was in awe at what he saw.

It wasn't a secret lair, or a base and the treasure was certainly not the typical box of golden doubloons in some thief fantasy. Still, it was a treasure all the same. A magnificent treasure.

The room was probably half the length of the living quarters above ground, which was still immensely large for what Charles expected down here. He thought it might be the size of a kitchen or some small office, not this area that seemed almost more stable than the buildings above. Wood beams stretched across the ceiling with the concrete from the floors above lying flat on them. Every few meters were another few beams that reached from the floor to the ceiling.

But the architecture wasn't what grabbed Charles attention. No, it was the book shelves. The books and pamphlets and scrolls that seemed to adorn this room.

They weren't the usual book shelves – probably more like cut pieces of wooden slabs that had been attached to the walls (brick apparently) somehow, but they worked nevertheless. The amount of literature was amazing. Charles ached to reach out and grab one of them and sit down wherever just to read. He didn't need any chairs or tables or any of that. Just a space to call his own and a book.

"This is… This is utterly amazing," he breathed in awe. "Fascinating. Just… fantastic. Words can't explain my emotions, my friend. How is this here?"

"Books from those who came here. Scientists. Authors. Different people. They used what was here already. Wrote half of this. Used books from their homes for the other." Erik walked ahead to one of the shelves and retrieved a random pamphlet. The pages of it were not in perfect shape, and it was held by strings at the edges. When he flipped the page, Charles saw that indeed all the words had been written by someone's original hand. "See?"

"Why is this here though? When was this put here?"

"It was here before me. I do not know."

"You must have been curious and asked around, though! Anyone would have been."

A smile reached the corners of Erik's lips. "Not everyone is like you, Charles. Most accept it as is."

Charles let out a gasp and motioned to the books, trying to encompass everything in one gesture. "Accept it as is? But this is something new and different! It's a mystery! Surely someone should have been curious who started it and why. It's human nature to be curious. My goodness," Charles let out a laugh and shook his head. "Perhaps I am odd, but I'm definitely curious. How are you not?"

"We are not the same, Charles," Erik reminded him. Charles rolled his eyes and sighed.

"Yes, I understand that. But this is such a great discovery! Am I allowed to come here? Without you?"

"It's for everyone here. Just do not let soldier's see."

"Of course!" But Charles couldn't help but wonder how no one had seen this place. It wasn't entirely obvious, but there was a little suspicion of its convenient placing. Surely someone must have been wondering. Or maybe the soldiers were as the others when it came to being curious?

Goodness wasn't it ridiculous to say "curious" like it was some ability not many had! Accept things as is? If Charles had abided by that, he would never have talked with his father that final time in the office. He would have never met Erik. He wouldn't even by the person he was today! Half if not three-quarters of Charles ambition was entirely fueled by curiosity so he was confounded that everyone else just seemed to go with the flow of the current. He didn't know what to make of it.

Erik tapped his shoulder and Charles turned around when he motioned him to follow him. He walked ahead to one of the last bookshelves, carefully hidden for some reason, and pulled out a book. When he opened it, it had been carved out save for the edges of the pages that still gave it the illusion of being readable. Charles would have scolded Erik for the crime if he didn't see what was inside it.

There were pieces of metal. Small wires from a combination of glasses frames to metal coat hangers and little springs in ruined mattresses. Some of the metal was blue and other pieces were the typical silver or grey. It was an outstanding little collection, if not a little confusing.

Charles didn't understand why Erik would show him this, but he kept his mouth shut for the moment and waited. For once, he didn't let his mouth run ahead of him – as was rapidly becoming habit in this place. He had to be patient and with people he could be. With Erik it seemed he had to be.

Erik retrieved a spring, a blue metal piece of a glasses frame, and a small piece of stray metal from nowhere in particular. He closed the book and placed it back in its place and sat down on the ground, nodding in front of him for Charles to do the same. He did so without hesitation.

Sitting cross-legged, he placed his hands on his ankles and leaned in, waiting for what Erik was going to show him, but there was a look on Erik's face. Uncertainty. He was unsure. Charles wanted to say that Erik could trust him, but he had a feeling that it may cause the opposite effect so he bit his lower lip and continued to remain silent and wait.

Closing his eyes, Erik opened them and seemed to come to a conclusion.

His hands, which had been still for the moment, began to shake tremendously. They were almost unsteady and shivering with the cold that surrounded them, but Charles knew it wasn't from the cold. It couldn't be. Erik's hands hadn't shaken when they were outside and it was significantly colder up there. No, this was something else.

_His hands. The drug. Edie did say that he never did get rid of the pain._

Charles saw Erik's forehead wrinkle in the said pain but he pushed on.

It was when hissing breaths stretched out between Erik's lips that Charles was about to tell him to stop. Whatever he wanted to show him, it wasn't worth it if it was going to cause him pain. He didn't want his close friend in pain, no matter if it wouldn't please his curiosity. His friend's health was more important than silly little wonderings.

But then he saw what Erik was doing and stopped thinking altogether.

The metal loop in Erik's hand, was stretching out in front of Erik except he wasn't using his hands. They remained still as they cupped the wire, the shaking being the only movement. Erik was uncurling the metal of the spring simply by _looking_ at it.

Charles was afraid to breathe, afraid to look away, in fear that this would shatter in front of him. Was he still sleeping? Dreaming? Either had to be true for this couldn't be. This was impossible! No one should logically be able to do this, surely. It was something out of stories – powers, abilities, whatever this was.

Erik was doing it, though. With bated breath Charles watched as he took the blue frame and began to mold it into a circular, ring-like shape. The metal seemed to be melting and cooling in front of him, creating a flawless shine that jewelers would be envious of. the metal curving just slightly. Charles was amazed with all this alone and was about to praise Erik, but he wasn't finished.

He grabbed the spring from before and began to attach it to the blue ring. Those same hands that were shaking far too much to be good for him. Erik's face was growing red and tears seemed to be shining just behind his lids.

Intricate swirls from the small spring began to worm its way across the blue ring, overlapping and thinning in some places and branching off to a stop in others. It was like a metallic snake slithering across and leaving its mark.

The finishing touch was the last piece of metal. It was small and wasn't really that magnificent, but Erik made it look like it was more than it appeared. He changed it, flattened it so that it could border the top and the bottom of the blue portion.

Afterward, he spent a few seconds rubbing his thumbs gently over the surface, shining the metal and creating edges and finalizing the shape.

When he was finished, breathing hard and heavily with a certain pain constricting his eyes, he held it out to Charles.

For a moment, Charles was afraid to touch. The ring was nothing but a bunch of spare metal before. How did it change so fast? It didn't even last longer than five minutes at best, but the metal was no longer the frame, spring, and extra metal it was before. Now it was together and had the appearance that it always had been together or was meant to be. Charles didn't know what to say and was more than a little hesitant on touching it.

It wasn't fear. It was the _"unknown factor"_ that made him weary. The fact that he couldn't explain rationally what had just happened without thinking of things his father once told him were impossible.

Nevertheless, curiosity got the better of him, and he gingerly took it out of Erik's hand. It was a little warm, but it was definitely solid. As solid as the metal from before.

He met Erik's eyes. "My friend, how on Earth did you do this? It… It should be impossible."

He pointed to his head and then held out his hands. "I'm good with my hands."

_So that's what he meant before._ Charles thought. _He's literally good with his hands. With metal. What would his father call this? Metallic-kinesis? Metal manipulation? Is there a name I could use?_

"Is it only metal or…?"

"No, just metal."

Charles hummed to himself and held onto the ring for a little longer before holding it out to Erik again. "This is absolutely gorgeous. Thank you for showing me it."

Erik shook his head and picked up the ring from Charles's hand, hesitating before grabbing his left hand.

"Which finger?"

Charles couldn't believe it. "Erik, you can't possibly be serious. Making this for me? I can't take it."

"Charles. Which finger?"

_None!_ He wanted to say but he knew very well that Erik wouldn't leave him be if he said that. He didn't even let him rest a night before coming to him again. Eventually Charles would say yes. Perhaps he should save himself the trouble and pick a finger now.

Sighing, he shook his ring finger and Erik slipped the ring on. At first, the ring was far too large for Charles's thin fingers, but the boy closed his eyes and for the briefest of moments Charles felt a small heat on the finger and then none at all. When Erik removed his hands, the ring remained in place, suddenly the perfect size for his finger.

Tugging at it experimentally, he found he was able to remove it and slip it back on with ease. It was perfect.

"I… Thank you. This really is lovely. Your ability is just absolutely amazing entirely!" He smiled at Erik but then his brow began to furrow. "But I'm confused why you are giving me this. Perhaps you should give it to your mum. She must be more important and deserving of this, yes? She would love it I am positive."

But Erik wasn't listening. He was shaking his head repeatedly and Charles's words drifted off with even more confusion. If he wouldn't accept giving the ring to his mother, then what was he to do? He couldn't keep it surely. It was too… too beautiful. Too nice. He wasn't deserving of this in the slightest yet Erik refused to believe it! What in the world was so important about giving this ring to Charles that any other possibility was irrelevant?

"An apology. For before. For… hurting you. It was never my intention." Charles was at a loss for words. "It wasn't the right choice. Thought distance might make it easier for you. I'm sorry."

Charles held up his hand with the ring, looking at it from all angles before letting it fall to his lap once again.

_"I can't keep being angry at Erik. It's impossible."_ He realized with a small chuckle.

He wasn't a person to hold a grudge. Well, perhaps that wasn't true. He could hold a mean one when he was truly upset, but this wasn't one of those times. He couldn't stay angry at Erik after this. As illogical as it was, Charles thought he understood Erik's reasoning. He felt bad for lying to Charles with his reassurance and thus couldn't face him and felt that distancing himself from making things worse was better than talking. _My son is not very social_ Edie had told him and she was right. He kept things to himself instead of talking.

And while Charles was always going to be a little irked by the boy, he felt the anger drain away leaving only a feeling of longing to be friends with him again.

_He caused me to forgive him in less than a day. How did he do that?_ Charles thought to himself, the weight of the ring solid against his finger.

"I forgive you."

Erik blinked as if he couldn't believe it. What did he expect?

"You do?"

Charles laughed a little. "Of course. I would be heartless not to at least forgive you a little bit for putting yourself in pain to make this. But you didn't have to make me this, Erik. You could have just explained yourself and I would have given the same response, I think."

"I didn't want to keep another secret."

Ah. So this was a secret then. A secret ability in a secret room between an already secretive set of people.

"Does anyone else know? About your… ability?"

He shook his head. "Only my mutter. And you now."

Charles bit his lip as he looked at Erik. He sensed a certain determination in the boy's gaze. Something that wasn't directed to making him believe him or to what they had just discussed. No, this was something else.

With a little shock, he realized why Erik was surprised. He didn't expect forgiveness because it wasn't his goal. His goal was something else entirely. He invited him here to "show him something" he had said. There was something else Charles was missing.

"Why did you really show me this, Erik?"

Erik met his eyes and spoke slowly and precisely as if talking to a child.

"Because I believe you have an ability too, Charles. You just don't know it or refuse to admit it yet."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to say a few things before I disappear into College Algebra homework.
> 
> One, for the ring, it is based off an actual ring. If you Google mens celtic ring, you will see this black tungsten ring with a almost royal blue center. That's the ring Erik made. By the way, the ring has more than Charles observed. Putting it out there. There was another reason the ring was warm when Erik adjusted it - something I might mention in a few chapters.
> 
> Also, the book of metal. Yes, I know Erik could probably use that alone or the guns of the guards and get rid of them, but the world is still dangerous to them and he still has his mum - someone he would never put in danger. The risk of her getting hurt is too strong for him to chance this. He does plan to do something though. He just needs time and the right moment.
> 
> Lastly, the Warsaw Ghetto was known to have secret underground libraries and archives. I decided to use that in this story and it will be important while Erik and Charles remain there.
> 
> That is all! :) Just wanted to cover a few things haha...
> 
> Well, have a nice night and please sleep well all of you! Or have a nice day if it's morning/day time. :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That being said, he may have been wrong at the time. As wrong as assuming when the sun was up it was pitch black night. As wrong as to say that every ounce of history was false. Charles, for once, faced the fact that he may actually be wrong about what he thought before, believe before, and it was due to two people.
> 
> Erik was the first person.
> 
> The second person that might prove him wrong could be himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually have quite a few chapters sketched out so far, but I kind of forgot to edit the ones I already had! I would have had this done sooner, but I temporarily lost my drive to edit. Luckily, this was fixed through Cherik fics and a maybe 15 playlists on 8tracks. So here it is. ^^ 
> 
> By the way, Drumming Song by Florence and The Machine is a great song for me to write to I found out. Probably the beat or rhythm or even the lyrics. I don't know but it has been on repeat for the entirety of my lengthy editing haha.
> 
> I'll try to post the next chapter soon! :) In the meantime, have a lovely day (or a pleasant night) please.

Chapter 6

When Charles was six, he vaguely remembered scaring the nannies for some reason. They never lasted longer than a week at the manor, never stayed long for them to remember them completely. Just a stray fragment of blonde hair, a glimpse of a hazel eye. Nothing more than that.

He couldn't remember what they looked like, but he could certainly remember that they didn't stay long. They did say those early years left imprints on your mind and a sense of "abandonment" certainly qualified in more regards than one.

Charles couldn't remember what caused their leaving – it being too far back for even his well-crafted memory -, but he thought it involved something he said. He could speak then and enjoyed asking questions and wondering why something was. He liked learning. So he always asked the nannies questions he wanted to know – the questions his little mind could put together.

But they weren't always that. Sometimes they were words he couldn't remember saying ever. Words that whispered into his little head, and he repeated on instinct without a second thought. This must have been his _intuition_ at the time.

One second he was being cooed at from this elderly woman too keen on pinching his cheek until he was certain all feeling was lost, and the next she shared this horrified look and called him a name, _"Mutant,"_ before rushing out of the house.

The day after his mother tended to come up to him (a rarity in its own right) and begin to teach him proper manners and speech. His younger self didn't understand this entirely considering he was already quite well-mannered for his age, but he did understand one thing: the nanny wasn't going to be coming back and it was because of him.

He went through two more nannies before he realized that perhaps it was safer to not say everything on his mind. Asking too many questions and saying his thoughts honestly wasn't a good thing. It was rude and often made people cry or get upset. He didn't like seeing people upset.

There was little to be said by his intuition at this aspect. All he caught then was _"When you are older you will understand."_

….

At the ripe age of eight, Charles had an encounter with a boy at the private school his father sent him off to. He didn't like the school, but he liked the boy who spoke to him even less.

He was a haughty know-it-all that didn't know anything really. At least, that was what younger Charles thought to himself, the pride on his shoulders making him ignorant. He didn't like the boy who was taller than him – but then again most of his fellow students were taller, more muscular, or all-about somehow better than he was – and how he enjoyed looking down on him, calling him "Tiny Charles" for the sake of nothing.

_"Tiny Charles, why are you so small?"_ Was his favorite question.

_"Tiny Charles, isn't it odd how your parents rarely come to school for any reason. Do you even have parents?"_ Appeared after his parents missed 3 school events due to work reasons.

_"Tiny Charles, why are you even here? You don't have many friends. I've made sure of that."_ This came up after Charles attempted to befriend someone who disregarded him entirely.

_"No one wants to be friends with a know-it-all brat who has been placed in the wrong age group. Too smart for your own good, you are. Why are you such a mutant here? A freak?"_

There was the "kicker" as they said it; that one word again. _Mutant._ It hit him hard. Mutant? Freak? It made him the outsider no matter how you put it.

Charles wasn't aiming to be on anyone's bad side back then. In fact, he truly wanted to make friends. He was an excellent speaker, or so his teachers told him, and he had a certain "charm" or whatever the older people said, that made people like him almost instantly. If both of those things helped make friends, why didn't he have any?

It didn't make any sense to him at the time.

So he tried to be likeable then. He attempted to smile often, even if things were said to him cruelly, and he laughed and participated with eagerness. He tried out sports, realized they weren't quite his thing, and then settled with a small chess team they held at the private school. It was nice. He had a few "teammates" but never truly "mates." Mates hung out with you after school, joked around, and held more of a presence than simply… being there in one lone class that occurred only twice a week.

No matter what he did, he couldn't quite gain friends.

And one day he gave up trying and allowed himself to just settle and be himself. He wasn't a mutant if he was himself. He wasn't _different_ if he was himself. He was just… himself.

That was all he truly wanted. To be accepted as _himself_ , an actual human being, rather than that cursed word that seemed to trail after him.

So he just kept to himself and interacted when necessary, or to make a point. He didn't bother with half of the school population for they meant poison to his veins and just walked the line of a "good boy." The one kid who would be remembered later as "that one nice chap" or even "the boy who seemed to never harbor bad intentions."

He was simply a good child. The one that teachers were relieved to see each day and the one that his classmates couldn't seem to hate because he wouldn't do anything to them and couldn't like either for he didn't do anything with them.

It was blissful for a while but it wasn't to last.

This change of course led to some… unsavory things that weren't completely his fault. At least, they couldn't quite prove it was his fault. Charles didn't speak to anyone unless spoken to first. To anyone else, it looked like he defended himself from a verbal bully rather than having a heated conversation. After all, all Charles did was speak his mind and suddenly no one wanted to go after him with cruel remarks.

So it just happened that one fateful day the boy, haughty and red-faced from God knows what, decided to corner him. He was heading back to his dorm, the 7-o'clock curfew being almost upon them, and suddenly his path was blocked.

Again, he couldn't quite remember what he said. He never could. It was as if the memories were blocked. Tangible but not there. All he knew was that the boy stopped bullying him after that day – fear in his eyes but also embarrassment and anger –, leaving only a bleeding nose from where he punched Charles as the only _"goodbye."_

…..

Off and on these things happened. It wasn't his fault that he spoke his mind. People shouldn't have taken his words so seriously in the first place. There was a reason that they had the saying _"taken with a grain of salt."_ But every time he said something this phrase was forgotten. They were mere opinions he personally thought, but no one ever thought of it as that. Every time he said something, something that pertained to them and what he _thought_ they were thinking, they ran off like rats in hiding.

At one point, he played with the thought that maybe he was some superhero. It would have been neat he thought! Being able to… do whatever he could do. Sweeping in to save the damsel in distress, defeating the villain, and all in a day's work! It would be amazing, and Charles imagined himself silly with ridiculous things like costumes (yellow always came to him. Or this soft pink color), looks, poses, etc.

But then he realized it was stupid. People like those don't exist. If they did, they were ordinary people who did great things through their own _learned_ talents. None of this super-power nonsense.

That being said, he may have been wrong at the time. As wrong as assuming when the sun was up it was pitch black night. As wrong as to say that every ounce of history was false. Charles, for once, faced the fact that he may actually be wrong about what he thought before, believe before, and it was due to two people.

Erik was the first person.

The second person that might prove him wrong could be himself.

It was absolutely bizarre to ponder such a thought. Charles found it hard to grasp. Him? An ability? Erik must have hit his head on something or maybe was still in pain from his own _amazing ability_ to think straight (manipulating metal! How endearing was that?). Charles didn't have a power of any sort. He just had a good sense of intuition and what was to be said or thought. Anyone could do that certainly, right?

Charles playfully punched Erik in the shoulder, laughing along the way though even to his own ears it sounded incredibly fake. "Really now, Erik. Please stop joking around. I almost believed you for a second there, you know!"

But Erik's face didn't break into laughter or a smile like Charles thought it might. His face was unreadable, in fact. Charles always saw Erik as annoyed, gentle, or some other emotion when he was with certain people, but never had he encountered him when he was unreadable. It was like looking at a brick wall, hoping for some sort of expression when you know that it was solid and wouldn't change with your words or wishes.

His arm fell to his side, the ring burning on his finger like a reminder. "You are joking, correct?"

At last, Erik shook his head slowly. His mouth had thinned into a line and for a second he seemed almost uncertain about what he said himself, but it was a fleeting thought and he was once again determined.

"You have an ability, Charles. You do. Why is it hard to believe?"

"I…" Charles drifted off.

Why was it so hard to believe? So impossible? Was it the logic side or just he part of him that was in strict denial that such a thing could happen to him?

He averted his gaze and looked at his fingers, finding immense interest in twisting and tangling them. "It's just impossible! If I had this ability, wouldn't I know by now? I mean, you did. You seem really good at it, too. It just doesn't seem a likely thing, Erik. Not at all to me anyways. But…"

_But…?_ His mind whispered to him, the intuition nudging him forward, towards what Erik said. It was as if it wanted Charles to believe it.

"But…?" Erik echoed his thoughts, his brow raised.

"But…" Charles continued with hesitance. "If you perhaps explain to me why you think I do, maybe I can be more open to the thought." _And ignore how impossibly wrong it was._

Erik seemed to practically _beam_ at this. He smiled and it was one of those all-teeth smiles. If it wasn't for the fact that Charles knew Erik was happy for what he said (intuition as always), he might have been a little frightened for the smile was almost a split replica of some shark-teethed grin.

But it was a pleasant smile. An infectious smile that Charles found himself reciprocating it. He couldn't help it, not with this boy that seemed to be an exception to most of his rules.

"Great! Tomorrow. Meet here at noon." Erik's smile faltered for a moment as he looked Charles up and down. "Will you be able to pick up wooden board? It is heavy."

Charles puffed up his chest. "I'll have you know that I am a lot stronger than I look, _darling._ There is more to me than bone."

"Mm hmm," Erik hummed, obviously not believing him one bit. "Do you say that to everyone?"

"…Maybe," Charles mumbled before coming back up indigently. "But that doesn't mean anything! Don't judge a book by its cover. I may appear weak but I am stronger in other regards."

"I have no doubt about that."

Charles laughed when he saw Erik roll his eyes. The smile was still there but it wasn't toothy. It was just a little quirk of the lip. Something very telling to the observing eye. Charles definitely preferred this to him being in pain or being a cold, brooding prick, though.

They left the room soon after, trailing into the living quarters. Charles tried to figure out where Erik stayed in the room, just for reference purposes, but it was near impossible with how many people were crammed into the room. The moon was still up, thank goodness, but even though the rest of the night was left to Charles and sleeping (like he wanted to do), he couldn't find it in himself to finally calm down.

His nerves were too excited, racing around each other with pacing thoughts and concerned bystanders. It was because of what Erik told him. It had to be it.

He couldn't help but think the possibility of having a power was slim to none. He would have known by now.

But perhaps it was the optimistic hope that made him accept it.

Either way, he would be busy tomorrow, and if things went well, he might be proved to have powers, or he might just be another silly boy with high ambitions and impossible dreams.

He hoped for the first choice. He truly did.

As he fell asleep, the thoughts finally lulling him, he thought of Erik's hands, of how concentrated he appeared, and of the own pain in the back of his skull. Lastly, he tried to think what could cause such a change in a person. Genetics? Could be. But Charles would never know.

Perhaps if he wasn't in this place, he could have gone to Oxford and become a master in Genetics. Research this gene, this _X gene,_ or whatever it was he would call it. He would have been good at it. He had an excellent memory when he needed to learn something.

Yet it was no use. He was here, not outside the walls. Any dreams of that happening, escaping and becoming something greater were out of the picture. They would be for a while.

With an unhappy sigh, Charles felt a second away from sleep when he heard a low, almost mute male voice. He didn't know if it was imagination or something else, but it sounded a lot like Erik as it said _"Good night, Charles."_

…..

The next day Charles made sure his mother was fine and left to meet Erik.

Much to his annoyance, it did take him a good five minutes alone to figure out how to lift the board _and_ open the doors to get into the library, but he wasn't going to tell Erik that.

Judging by the amused expression on Erik's face, he didn't have to. Git.

"What took you so long? Problems?" Erik asked innocently, blinking his wide eyes with a hint of laughter behind them.

"No," he quipped, rolling his shoulders that ached from multitasking on his body. "The board was heavy to lift is all but nothing too difficult!"

"Sounds like a personal problem."

"I managed, you prat," Charles retorted to which Erik barked out a laugh and wiped a few nonexistent tears. Charles pouted and came over to join him in the back corner of the library like where they had been the night before. He tucked his knees under him and drummed his fingers against his thighs, waiting for Erik to cease his stupid teasing.

He felt Erik nudge him with his shoulder, trying to get his attention but Charles turned his face away, refusing to look at him. He knew it was childish but he thought he was allowed a few moments of childishness every now and then. After a minute, he heard Erik give off a loud sigh.

"I'm sorry Häschen. Couldn't resist," He actually sounded sincere.

Charles rolled his eyes and looked at him. "Uh huh. Couldn't resist? You must think you're so funny, Erik."

"Of course."

"And are there anyone who actually laughs at your jokes?"

"Well…" He drifted off, a look of embarrassment crossing his features before he blinked and looked at Charles. "You."

"Me?" Charles thought back and then realized that he indeed laughed at Erik's "jokes." It… took a certain type of person to appreciate them though, but he most certainly laughed at them. Damn. "Oh. Well. Hm."

"Yes, 'hm' indeed," Erik said, but he was less embarrassed now and more amused with how Charles's face was growing a little red. "What was that, Charles?"

"Nothing. So. The ability thing. Shall we move onto it now?" It was a painfully obvious change in topic but Charles had a feeling if he continued attempting to mess with Erik he may actually be the joke instead, and then they would get nowhere.

Erik nodded but there was a smirk on his face still. Clearly, he thought he won their little teasing battle – which, for your information, he did not. Definitely not. Charles would always win those. He was excellent at comebacks thank you very much and he would definitely succeed at making Erik flustered or _something._ He just let him off easy this time.

He was about to once again try to get them to focus on their plan for that day, but he found out he didn't have to. As if a light had been flipped, Erik changed from the teasing boy to allowing his expression to fall and reveal narrowed eyes and thin lips.

_He was focusing._ His intuition whispered to him and Charles agreed.

There was one thing Charles noticed about Erik throughout his week of being here. Once there was something he wanted to do, to get done, or just to finish, in general, he was bound to that ambition and would finish it without a doubt. He would place his entire focus on that one goal. He wasn't one to half-attempt something.

Like at this moment, for instance. Charles felt his scrutiny on him as if he was deciphering a calculation rather than a person. It was unnerving and awe-inspiring at the same time. Charles wished he had the same determination, but at the same time he felt that it must be because of his independence. Only residing on himself to do everything and do it correctly at that.

Erik lifted a hand and then froze. "Where is the pain? From the drug."

Charles tilted his head before placing his fingers on either side of his temples. "Here specifically."

"And only there?"

"Only here. Everywhere else I have been fine." Which was probably a miracle considering what Erik had to go through.

Erik hummed to himself and then placed his fingers where Charles's was earlier. He applied some pressure to the spot and Charles winced. It wasn't in pain but the shock that went through him when Erik touched it. It was as if his mind was reacting to Erik's presence. Evaluating it. Still unsure if it was deemed safe.

"How does this feel?"

"I'm fine," Charles bit out but Erik gave him a look. "Doesn't hurt."

"Liar. How does it feel? Honest?"

Charles was tempted to fight for his lie but he felt his resolve fall with Erik's expression.

"Ah… then more like you're just fueling the fire, my friend. It hurts a little each time." At this Erik immediately removed his fingers as if burned. Charles felt bad but Erik wanted an honest answer, didn't he?

"Mental power," Erik murmured, narrowing his eyes before taking out a small stone from his trouser pockets, tossing it for a moment before looking at Charles. He tilted his head, shook his head as if disapproving something, and then nodded to the side. Charles was wondering what was going through his head. It must be something completely analytical and fascinating. It almost made Charles want to write an entire _novel_ on just the amazing mind of Erik Lehnsherr. It must be like a wonderland of sorts.

The amazement was short lived as Erik spoke to him.

"Charles. Catch this by focusing on it."

"Erik you can't possibly be thinking-" But then he stopped himself, took a deep breath and nodded. "Fine. Okay. I'll try."

The stone was tossed in the air and Charles felt his fingers go to his temple as he focused on it. He pictures it not moving, not hitting the ground, just remaining suspended in the air.

But the stone fell and Charles let out a yelp when it hit him in the head.

Rubbing his head, he sent a glare at Erik, who seemed torn between wanted to apologize and wanting to chuckle endlessly.

"Really now, Erik? That hurt you know!"

"I'm sorry. I thought maybe danger would start ability. I was wrong."

"Clearly," Charles replied dryly, rubbing his head. "What does that mean? What was proven wrong by hitting me in the head with a bloody stone?"

"Not telekinetic," Erik stated, picking up the stone and putting it back into his pocket.

Charles blinked and tilted his head. "Did I do something wrong? You said wrong. Is it me or do I just not have it?"

Erik shook his head. "No. Not at all. Just not able to. Multiple abilities for head. We have to narrow it down."

_I see_ , Charles thought to himself, waiting anxiously as Erik seemed to be having an entire debate in his head. His head hurt from some loud noise echoing in it, but Charles couldn't seem to pinpoint it. The fog protecting it entirely from him. He hoped he could get rid of it eventually. He was tired from the restriction.

"Erik. You are thinking too loud. You can speak, too, you know."

Erik flushed, clearing his throat before throwing an awkward smile. "Not used to sharing."

"I imagine," Charles spoke understandingly. "It's fine. You don't need to share everything. Just know that I am here for when you do want to."

Throughout the day they attempted a variety of exercises to narrow down the ability Erik desperately wanted to find. More tests for telekinesis and others for abilities that Erik only knew the term in German – a language Charles still hadn't regained entirely. It was rather annoying but there was little he could do. He was as hopeful and determined as Erik was in this matter.

He didn't know how long they were in there but eventually Erik sighed and stood, brushing the dust off his trousers and extending a hand to Charles, to which he gratefully took. "We will try more tomorrow."

_Tomorrow? What is there left to try?_

"Erik. Please. We already did so much today! What left is there to try? I am not some kind of superhero or whatever you fancy me to be. I know what you're thinking, Erik, and I have to politely disagree. No, I absolutely _must_."

"You do not know," Erik scoffed but Charles was on him in an instant, allowing his mouth to move without him for this one time.

"You are thinking _"There must be something I am missing. He is definitely a mutant. I just have to figure out what exactly he has"_ which is entirely untrue. You don't have to. I am simply normal, Erik. Maybe abnormally smart, but nothing more than the average intellect I assure you."

Erik stopped and gave Charles a look of absolute shock.

Charles furrowed his brows. "What?"

"Repeat what you thought I said. Add to it even."

Sighing, Charles repeated it once again. _"There must be something I am missing. He is definitely a mutant. I just have to figure out what exactly he has._ Except now I suppose you are wondering, _'Is he a telepath? If so, that would explain a lot.'_ Which is silly. Telepath? Really, Erik. You are quite the open book. What are you so surprised about?"

Erik's mouth was agape and Charles was about to shake him if he kept remaining silent. What was possibly wrong now? Did he say something rude again? He didn't think so but rudeness was unique to each person and what it meant.

"Charles," Erik seemed to be breathing in shock. "Do it again. Do what you just did again."

"Again now? This is the third time, though!" He sighed. "Did you want me to guess what you are thinking or anything specific?"

"Guess at my thoughts."

_That shouldn't be too hard. He's practically screaming them._ His intuition whispered to him.

"Fine." Charles felt his fingers hit his temples as he stared at Erik for a moment. He felt a certain voice ring out to him like before. This time it was practically shouting. The voice that he always dubbed his intuition had changed, though. It was deeper now and sounded more familiar to him – very much like the boy in front of him. He repeated what the voice told him. " _How did I not know sooner? It was so obvious. How quickly he knew the language, how he seemed to guess accurately at thinking. If he can understand this, I wonder what else he is able to do. Charles, can you hear me? Can you understand this?_ "

It was odd hearing it and reciting it. It had a German undertone – German words and phrases for certain – but the voice that spoke to him was English. Additionally, it sounded as if he was actually hearing thoughts rather than saying what was on his mind, especially the end.

"Magnificent." Erik breathed and then a wide grin spread across his face. He looked positively happy. "Charles. Do you know what you did?"

"I did what you asked me to do," Charles repeated slowly but Erik shook his head, exasperation contorting his previous serious expression.

"No. No. Listen. Listen hard. Focus on me."

_Charles. Listen closely to this. Can you hear my voice?_ The voice was slowly disintegrating in his head, exposing Erik's voice clear as day. It was as if it had been muffled entirely until this moment, until he was aware of it. The intuition voice was gone and now he seemed to be hearing Erik instead. _If so, then you are… amazing. You have an ability, Charles. I knew it. I absolutely knew it. I can see you narrow your eyes at my words, uncertain, but this is me. **Häschen** you are a telepath._

Charles eyes widened when he heard this, staring at Erik as the smile only grew.

_I knew it, Charles. You did have something special about you. It is about time you realized this._

Charles felt laughter bubble out of him as he heard Erik's voice in his head, his actual voice talking to him without even moving his lips. It was so clear and ground-breaking. Charles felt like a door was opening. The fog in his head still fought with fervor, but now he could see the first few bricks to his bridge.

"I.. How?" He didn't know what else to say. What was there to say? "How is this possible? How did you know?"

Erik seemed to refuse to speak with verbally anymore, finding glee in responding through his thoughts.

_The drug is for us, for those with abilities – mutants we are called._ And wasn't that a word he recognized all to well from his past. Even back then his nanny knew and the kid who tormented his private school life said it without thinking, but it still was the word choice of coincidence and bordering fate. _It silences our abilities, restricts them. That is why your head has been hurting for so long and so violently. You have an immense power, Charles. I cannot believe it took you this long to figure it out._

"It's not like I had any inkling of it when I was younger. I just assumed it was my intuition, that it was very good and accurate. It always seemed more likely."

_In a way, you weren't wrong._ Erik mused before continuing. _But surely there must be more. A simple telepath cannot master a language within two months like you did. It's almost genius-level intellect._

Charles could feel his face flush at the praise. "No. No you cannot be talking about me having more than one. One is enough. I'm just smart from my father."

_Not just that. You know it. If that was the case, you would be able to speak German to me now. The drug wouldn't have restricted it. The fact that it did says that it is due to your mutation. Your ability. Yet,_ He paused and tilted his head in thought. _You are able to understand me now. You must have found a hole in the drug's defenses._

It was almost too much, hearing Erik's thoughts in his head and then speaking to a silent room, the boy who's thoughts he was hearing remaining absolutely quiet.

"Erik. Please talk to me verbally. While I am as excited as you are about this discovery I haven't been aware of for 15 years. It's a tad overwhelming." It was. Terribly so. The door to his mind had opened slowly across the foggy moat and inside poured out a thin trickle of what must have been his ability. Except it was giving him a greater headache than the drug alone.

If he wasn't focusing on Erik's voice, he felt other voices come into his head and he had to focus to block them out. How had he not heard them before? Had they always been this loud and obnoxious?

Or maybe he had and his _"intuition"_ or whatever it was dubbed it as one single thought process for his understanding.

Was his intuition even that? Was it ever even that?

Charles wondered if Erik's cheeks hurt from all his smiling. It must since the boy has never seen him do it so much at one time before.

"Charles. You are a mutant. Like me. Like many others."

"Ha," he laughed and then spoke softly. "Mutant. Well, I suppose my past was right on one word. Well, I'm glad we figured it out now, even if it's overwhelming. I have a feeling if I had found out on my own I would have feared I was the only one."

"No. No. You are not alone. Not anymore."

And those words alone made Charles smile brightly. He wasn't alone. It was a phrase he didn't know he wanted to hear so much until this very moment.

_I am not alone._

He had never truly thought himself as alone, but perhaps in a way he had been for a while now. His age kept him separated from the adults and his intellect restrained him from students around him. He didn't fit in anywhere; not necessarily.

It was a little funny that the word he hated so much years ago was the word that made him the opposite of alone.

But even with this happy moment, with Erik smiling at him like he was a jewel rather than a ridiculously smart 15-year-old boy, Charles couldn't help but feel like this was the start of something. Him figuring this out. Learning this ability – or rather acknowledging it. It was the start of something and he couldn't quite figure out what.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Charles met Erik's patient gaze once again, Erik finally said aloud. "The Warsaw Rebellion. The _mutants._ "
> 
> Then quietly, a whisper of thought. _Our kind._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: I don't know how many of you celebrate Thanksgiving, but I do so I figured I would try and pull out a chapter for the day. It's not that good, sadly, but I think the next few chapters might make up for it!
> 
> I'll mention some more at the end to clear up some stuff that may be a little confusing.
> 
> I hope you all have a lovely day! I'll try to update soon if I can haha. My sleep schedule has been ruined between going to bed at 10pm and waking up at 2am. It helps that I am an introvert so having a chapter up sooner than later might be possible! So stay tuned in. :)
> 
> If you recognize the fandom, I don't own it.

_Daily Herald_

_October 28, 1941_

_**BRITISH WARSHIP SUNK** _

_**-German Claim** _

_Claim to have sunk a large British warship in the Mediterranean on Sunday was made in yesterday's German communique._

_This said that German dive-bombers sank the warship with direct hits off the coast of North Africa._

….

_Again, Charles._

Goodness. It was still going to take some getting used to in hearing that in his head. Or rather, listening in Erik's where his thoughts rumbled like a cello – deep and incredibly hard to ignore.

"Erik. Are you sure this is safe? Me being in there? You shouldn't be encouraging it. I might get used to peering into your mind, and I doubt you want me to peruse it like a library at my leisure."

_We have to practice and see the extent of your powers. Restrictions will come later._

"If you say so, my friend," Charles sighed before closing his eyes once again. He focused on extending himself in his mind, gently prodding his mind to allow him to retrieve a part of it. The drug was certainly there, ready to strike, but Charles attempted to mask his intent with something else as simple as remembering a name. Nothing more than remembering a name. Innocent. Not noticeable. "Why am I doing this, exactly? I understand you want to see what else I have to offer, but for what purpose is this for?"

Even though his entire focus was on edging towards the door that was still cracked open in his mind across the foggy moat, he heard Erik's voice echo in his mind as if on a speaker of a radio. It was crystal clear and reverberated through his entire mind, irritating the fog in his head. He didn't mind. The drug was almost distracted which gave him a little bit of an edge.

_A dream I have, let's say. To get out of here. It may be ridiculous and a long way from right now, but I am determined to follow it. I want my mutter out of here and you too, Charles._

Charles paused what he was doing, thinking over Erik's words before continuing his endeavors. "Erik. Maybe you should take my words with a grain of salt, or even politely disagree if you don't believe the same, but in my opinion, any dream worth having is a dream worth fighting for. _We will get out of here. Both of us. All of us._ "

Erik was quiet for a while and Charles almost opened his eyes to see what was the matter when Erik let out a soft chuckle.

_Your telepathy goes both ways. Of course, it does. Why am I surprised? I don't think you realize what you just did._

"What did I just do?" Charles asked absently, creating a temporary bridge one brick at a time until he reached the door in his mind. He was close. He was finally within reach of the handle.

_You sent your thoughts to me and by second nature almost. At least, you did to the end. There is more to your ability than we thought._

This caused Charles to lose his concentration, only allowing him to open the door a smidgeon more before the fog realized what he was doing and lashing out at him. Hissing, Charles backtracked and curled into himself, holding his head as the drug was relentless and making him almost regret his decision. Almost. He felt a few tears sting at the corner of his eyes and held his breath, releasing it in short stutters.

Perhaps he should ask Erik not to tell him these things when he was in danger of harm. He always seemed to find the right things to distract Charles – which wasn't always a good thing, sadly.

Or maybe Charles should just get better at concentrating. Probably the latter.

Charles was about to tell Erik he was ready to go again – for what must have been the fifth attempt by now – when he felt it. These bleeding emotions that were certainly not his own.

_Oh goodness, Erik._ Charles could feel the emotions fighting to leak through Erik's thoughts into his own mind. They were in a turmoil and that was putting it lightly.

When he opened his eyes, Erik had an expression of pain around the eyes, his shoulders curled in and his hands in tight fists.

Charles instinctively reached over to pat his friend's hand, offering a smile even if it was a little painful to do so.

_It's fine, my friend. I am fine._

"You're hurt. Again." It was as if he was cursing himself rather than telling Charles. Punishing himself for something that he simply couldn't have controlled. It was silly in Charles's mind, but he already knew that Erik took things like this personally – a failure of sorts he didn't want to allow period. It still didn't change the fact that it wasn't his fault, but Charles's for not multitasking or balancing him emotions carefully.

"No, no. None of that blaming nonsense," he nudged Erik with his shoulder, using the sleeve of his shirt to rub away whatever was trailing down his face. "I'm fine. Trust me. This is nothing new from when you found me a few days ago. It's just an effect we have to think about. We can try again. I'm _ready_ to try again. This was just a little setback."

But Erik still seemed unhappy. Thinning his lips, Charles sighed and gently prodded into Erik's head. He still didn't like wandering around his friend's mind so much, so he just skimmed the top, remaining far away from memories or any other important things not for his curiosity.

He immediately sensed _blame, protectiveness, worry, anger_ , and lastly _disgust_.

The first thought he heard was loud and seething with all these emotions put into one. _You should have known better, Lehnsherr. Charles isn't like you. You cannot put him in danger. As your only closest friend, you should not be allowing this to happen; allowing him to get hurt._

Charles blinked for a second and then rolled his eyes in fond exasperation.

_Ah, you silly, ridiculous boy._ Charles couldn't help but think as he stared with concern at his friend.

Perhaps he had been talking with Edie too much. When they got back the day before, he told Edie of the secret Erik revealed to him and they talked for hours on end about just Erik in general. She always said he was a good, kind boy, and Charles was beginning to feel the same thoughts as well for his friend.

He might possibly be the kindest person Charles knew. A part of it might be his independence. He was unsure what to do because he never was the social type. He was a perfectionist as well – Charles found this out quickly with all the tests they did for his ability and he wasn't quite sure if he liked being on the other end of this trait – which made his mistakes even more powerful against him. Charles almost wanted to hug his friend and only didn't because he wasn't quite sure if Erik would take to it kindly.

"Erik. Calm your mind. I am okay. See?" He brought up his hands to either side of Erik's face and made him look at him. "Look at me. Erik. You are such a silly person, darling. I am fine. It's going to take more than a little mental lashing to put me down for the count and you know it. Shush your vicious thoughts. Let them falter. Look at me and calm down."

Erik watched him for a long moment, moving over him as if to make sure he wasn't scarred. He must have been appeased with what he saw because he took a deep breath and nodded. "I'm sorry."

"Now now. I told you to stop blaming yourself. It's not like you. Where is the person that teased me for my rubbish and incredibly botched German at the beginning, hm? The person who is determined and willing to do anything for his dream, to get out. I know he is in there, Erik. He is you after all. Where else would he be?"

Charles waited for Erik to meet his eyes again and offered a smile. It wasn't a charming smile nor bright and cheery. It was just a smile, reassuring, and proof for this stubborn boy. "It's silly to blame yourself for my mistake. I am a student, Erik. I am still learning and I will only learn from my mistakes, and I will most certainly go through my fair share of them. I'm sure it took you a long while before you mastered your ability, hm? Probably gave your mum a fright half the time."

Like he was hoping, Erik chuckled at this.

"I knew it! What did you do to your mum? You should be ashamed to scare her so much." Even though Charles was teasing his friend, he felt relief hit him and sighed internally, grateful that he was able to avert the crises. Yes. He had to be patient with Erik.

He wasn't quite an oblivious fool. He was aware that Erik tended to be a little protective of him, especially around other individuals who he deemed "dangerous" in some shape, ability, or form. It was all in his stance and expression. How if there was a man eying Charles oddly Erik would immediately move to break the contact, glaring at the man. How he stood close by and closer if in crowds with questionable people or even those who had questionable motives. Charles wasn't sure if Erik was like this with all his friends and family, but he was definitely protective about him.

Of course, Charles did not need protecting. He could take care of himself thank you very much! He wasn't going to be a damsel in distress in need of saving from a knight in shining armor. But there was no way for him to let Erik know this. He knew very well that Erik wouldn't listen. He was as stubborn as a mule and once his mind was set on something there was little to deter it.

It didn't help that this "protective streak" made him a perfectionist in how he treated Charles. Like he had a book of expectations at what friends should be like compared to him.

Which was absolutely, positively ridiculous. Charles almost thought – a smidge really – Erik didn't understand what friendship was.

It wasn't something that could be written step by step in a book or novel. It was a process original to each and every person. It was a circumstance that brought them together, fate that sealed it, and a link of loyalty and amiable likeness that kept them under the word. There would be no words in any book or guide on _"How to be a Good Friend to Some English Boy Behind a Brick Wall"_ nor would there be one that said _"Ways to **Not** Hurt Your Telepathic Friend."_

No, there wouldn't be any of that and that was because it was entirely unpredictable.

And that was the best part of friendship. How unpredictable it truly was.

But Erik didn't seem to understand that yet.

Perhaps Charles could be the one to start the process.

Reaching up, Charles paused and allowed Erik to catch what he was doing before he placed two fingers against Erik's temples. Closing his eyes, he decided to try something. Either it would work or he would look like an idiot. It was fine. He would learn either way.

He pictured what he thought and how he looked like when he talked to Erik back at the wall before he came here. He imagined how happy he was even when they had their moments of impasse. He tried to incorporate his thoughts into it but he didn't even know if this much was working. It was a miracle enough that Erik didn't ask what Charles was doing.

_No matter what Erik, you know I will be by your side. If I was here when we were separated by that wall and you were worried for your life, then I certainly will be here now – no matter if I get hurt along the way or not as much as you may not like it._

_Friendship is a fickle thing. It can't be defined. Don't punish yourself for something so obscure, darling. We are human and we do make mistakes. It is human nature and even if we are defined as Mutants, we are still human all the same, are we not?_

Outside of this projection, Charles wondered how Erik survived with himself this long. If he had thoughts like these every time he failed, how did he withstand it? It seemed like a vicious circle that just ate at itself until there was nothing left. Were these the thoughts he kept to himself? Was this the result of him not talking to anyone? To being independent?

It was rather cruel if it was, in Charles's honest opinion.

_If you feel like you made a mistake, tell me rather than keep it to yourself. It isn't healthy, my friend. You won't scare me away that easily. It takes a lot to dissuade a Xavier's ambition and motive. I'm afraid I am rather attached to you and it's going to take a lot to push me away. You are stuck with me._

At this Erik allowed a small quirk of the lip and Charles sighed before releasing his fingers. He waited for Erik to look up at him before asking the impending question. The thoughts he knew Erik heard. The images he wasn't entirely sure about.

"Well? Did… did you see what I sent?" He was wringing his fingers together, squeezing them in anticipation. He never did like waiting for the results of an experiment. Patience was fickle with him. Only pertained to people as he had to remind himself and others constantly. "My memories?"

"Yes I did," Erik spoke softly, tilting his head with an unreadable expression. Charles was beginning to not like these expressions. He couldn't quite tell what Erik was thinking. He went off emotions and without them he was blind. Yes, he did have his telepathy, but he didn't want to use it every time he was kept in the dark. It was hardly fair. "Did you really think of me like that? A friend?" _That was your first thought of me?_

Charles was confused. "What do you mean? I sent the images, but I didn't aim to send anything with it."

"Soft voice of thought. Very soft. Almost mute with your words. I could… hear you."

"Hear me?" Charles said, eyes widening. It had worked? And even more than that, it had worked even better than he aimed for it to. "I wasn't aiming for you to hear my thoughts, just to hear my voice."

_And that I did. Very clearly. Both sides._

There was a certain awed tone in his voice – thoughts Charles corrected immediately – that seemed like he had an epiphany rather than a simple revealing. Charles was dying to know what he was thinking, but Charles refused to delve further into his head.

It wasn't because he wasn't curious. As he said before, he was dying to know what Erik was thinking at that moment.

No, it was the fact that he had a strict moral code. For as long as he remembered, he wanted to peer into a person's minds and see their thoughts, but now he realized it was similar to intruding a home and leaving every inch of furniture an inch to the left. They knew it was messed with, but they didn't know how. Each person had their own thoughts for a reason and their own reasons for not speaking them out loud.

Charles wanted to think he could respect those rules.

So he didn't peer into Erik's mind and instead decided to die of curiosity instead.

And when that expression, that tone in his thoughts, had drifted away, a part of Charles was disappointed he never found out what it was. Just a little bit.

"Charles. Can I see the ring?"

Fighting to hold back the smile on his face, Charles replied, "I think you can see it clear as day, Erik. It is on my finger and is quite noticeable at that. Care to elaborate?"

Erik let out an exasperated sigh. "You know very well what I mean, Häschen."

"Do I now? Can you read minds, too? I had no idea!" Keeping the smile back at this point was suicidal and he found it appearing with his teasing. "What am I thinking, hm? Do tell. I am really curious."

"You're thinking that you're clever with your teasing."

"Oi!" Charles pushed Erik's shoulder while laughing. "I am perfectly clever! And witty and amazingly charming. There's no "thinking" involved. I'm just born this way."

"I can see that," Erik rose a brow but he was smiling as well. "May I please hold the ring now?"

Charles nodded, confused despite the teasing he just partook in, lifting his finger so he could see it. Erik cupped it in his hands and blew on it softly, warm air coasting over Charles's fingers and on the ring. The ring warmed up for a second before cooling once again. A little red-faced, Charles tilted the ring at multiple angles trying to find out what had changed.

He couldn't find any. Maybe he wasn't looking hard enough but there was hardly any change to it. The ring itself didn't look any different. It was a little warmer on the inside, but that could simply be due to body heat. So what had Erik done?

"What was that for?"

"Ah. Size adjustment. Thin fingers." But there was a little bit of mirth in those eyes. A little note of something Charles couldn't quite pinpoint and it infuriated him. Not enough to make a fuss out of it, obviously, but enough that he was almost on the urge to ask about it. Just a little question.

_Your laughing at me, are you not?_ He sent with suspicion laced through it.

He didn't really know why he immediately assumed he was laughing at him. Well, okay, no that was a lie. He did know because Erik seemed to find immense pleasure in making Charles flustered and then proceed to tease him until he might as well be a relative to a cherry. Laughing seemed to be the best bet to go with.

Erik blinked and the mirth went with it. Well, it had seemed so. Now not so much. Great. Charles had been wrong. He hated being wrong almost more than not knowing something.

_Laughing at you? Why would I be laughing at you, Häschen?_

He couldn't tell him. Knowing Erik, he would probably even find joy in that as well. _No reason in particular. You just… had an expression. It was odd. I didn't know what it was. I… incorrectly assumed it to be laughter._

There was a quirk of the lip and Erik seemed to realize exactly what Charles was referring to but still (annoyingly) refused to say anything about it to clear it up. In fact, what he did say just mocked Charles's patience; being stupidly vague and foreboding. Prat. "Ah. I see. I will tell you soon. Eventually."

_When does eventually approximate to?_ Charles whined to himself. Tomorrow? The day after? A week? A month? Years? Goodness, if it was years Charles might just go insane! There was only so much he could take.

As per usual, Erik got up first, extending his hand to lift Charles up as well. Charles had long grown used to those calloused hands that were warm no matter what the weather may be outside. The way their hands fit was routine, the fake groan that Erik gave out when he tugged Charles up second-nature, and the way they bickered on who was going to hold the door open for the other being their usual.

On the way back from the library, they began to hear loud shouts coming from the living quarters. All of it was German that his abilities didn't seem up to translating at the moment, considering the lashing he received earlier. The headache was already going past a migraine at this point but he had grown used to it. All he knew was that there was angry yelling, scared screaming, and a certain undertone of _danger_.

Charles's abilities, what abilities weren't traumatized by the fog, heightened at the possibility. A portion of it reached out to Erik, to make sure he was fine. Erik was protective about Charles but the opposite could easily be said for Erik.

He reached out to stop Erik but the boy already seemed one step ahead of him, moving to casually walk in front of Charles and slowly inch forward.

At the door were a group of soldiers. They were stoic and cold as they approached them, not moving in the slightest when it was clear Charles and Erik wished to get in.

Erik said something to the men to which one of them begrudgingly replied, motioning ahead to the room and holding three fingers up. Erik's lips thinned and a sharp look was sent to Charles before he nodded to the soldier and grabbed Charles wrist, dragging him away from the group of armed men.

Charles went with the force only because he was surprised by it, but even when the shock wore off he found Erik's grip to be as strong as steel. He couldn't slip his wrist between those fingers. He couldn't so much as tug a centimeter of leeway. "Erik, what is it? Why are we going away? Shouldn't we be-"

"Charles, for once, please be quiet." Charles shut his mouth though not without a few unhappy trails of thoughts. He didn't like orders being given to him, but he decided to keep his thoughts to himself for the time being. Erik was giving off waves of _stress, annoyance,_ and a blip of _fear_ that tangled dangerously in Charles's thoughts. It was as if it was a thickened net made to cover true thoughts. A net to throw off a reader – a shield.

But Charles wasn't an idiot, nor was he clumsy in his abilities. When he wasn't with Erik he tested them out. Only on individuals doing common things. Never anyone important like Edie or his mum. He had boundaries that he wasn't to cross and those two were the extent of them. But the rest were open to his leisure and he had glimpsed one too many times the desperate thought of escape that rang out in a chorus across the camp like angels had taken to making their prayers known rather than an unfortunate populace.

He learned to be discreet and backed off from Erik's mind. Far enough that the net didn't catch him, but close enough for him to still be able to catch his emotions.

Erik wasn't afraid or annoyed, he was outright angry. Furious. Tremendously agitated by the soldier's words. _Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong. Things weren't going according to plan, according to his plan. What they needed was someone who could-_

And then a shield came up so fast that Charles flinched in Erik's grasp.

Erik was giving him a look. Unreadable again. He still didn't like this look for he knew this time it was a secretive purpose. It wasn't because of being unsociable. It was because he didn't want to be sociable.

"Don't prod where eyes are not meant to see, Charles."

_Excuse me?_

Erik had never once tried to restrict Charles and his abilities. In fact, he was more than open to allow Charles to see into his head. It was only his own morals that kept him from seeing everything and anything the boy had to offer. He had never once touched his memories. He had never once gone into those dark shadows that plagued Erik's mind. Primarily because he had no right to. They weren't his.

Erik knew this. He often told Charles that his morals would keep him in line, from faltering with his abilities. It would keep him a "good kid" so-to-speak.

But this was different. It wasn't exactly distrustful – for they had long gotten past that thank goodness – but it was definitely a warning. Hardly threatening, yet it implied danger and a lot of perilous doubt for what he might see.

Even though Charles wished to quip that it was ultimately his decision on if he wanted to be shielded or not, the ultimatum would be with Erik. It was his mind, after all. In that sense, Charles actually had no say at all.

Nevertheless, it did bring a strange mixture of hurt, worry with a pinch of annoyance to Charles's mood.

His eyes narrowed at the boy, but Erik didn't so much as blink as he turned back and continued to force Charles to follow him.

_What happened to not wanting to keep secrets from me anymore, Erik?_ Charles sent out, bitterness ringing in the words. He wasn't necessarily angry, but he did hold a certain agitation to Erik's actions that were once again contradictory. Just an hour ago (if Charles had to guess) Erik was blaming himself for Charles's own mistakes, and now here he was being someone completely different. Was this also due to independence? Or was it compartmentalization? Disassociation?

Whatever it was, Erik didn't answer and simply huffed as they reached the fenced off area once again. Erik didn't slow down as they reached the gap and stepped over it in one stride. Charles, on the other hand, tried to do the same with his strides but his foot got caught with Erik's yanking, and he felt himself falling.

And then he wasn't.

There was a steady presence on Charles' chest, sturdy, and grounding as it kept Charles upright and from crashing into the debris-intermingled dirt. Erik was breathing hard and Charles might have caught a mild curse in those carefully shielded thoughts, but he said nothing as Erik set him straight. Not a second later he moved away his hand from Charles' chest, hesitating, and then began to walk again. This time, however, he was slower and didn't tug so much.

"Be careful."

Not an apology but Charles wasn't sure if he wanted one. An apology might set him off and not in the way that would be anger. No, it would be persistence; the knowledge-craving Charles that Erik hadn't need to meet yet. So far, Charles maintained his manners and aimed to be generally friendly and amiable, but once there was something he wanted to know, to set straight, to be completely in-depth about, he was a relentless force of nature that could not be kept back.

Question after tedious and persistent question would be shot at Erik, the answer given more than likely not being the one he wanted. This would only make him ask more and more, maybe even the same question in different wording to weed out the lies, until he felt appeased.

This Charles, his starvation for information self, would not get along with Erik's stubborn self. Absolutely not. It might if it was directed to another piece of matter, but if it was placed against Erik?

Well. He might as well call a little war of his own. A verbal one where the one with the best wits, determination, and cunning skill would win. It would not end well for either of them.

Luckily for the both of them, Erik remained quiet. Quiet as a whisper in the wind. Nothing from his thoughts that had always remained open to Charles. Nothing from his voice that was incomplete yet genuine.

Charles tried to decipher Erik in front of him. His back was straight and his eyes metallic (from what he could see) as he swept the scene. There was an urgency in his walk – the walk when something wasn't going as planned. _Something was wrong._ Those were his thoughts, but what exactly was wrong?

There must have been a scheme. A scheme that Charles was out of the loop of for some reason – probably for a certain "protectiveness."

He wanted to get more information, fill in the loops, but the shield Erik had pulled up – how on Earth had he learned to do that? – was impossible to break through. Charles couldn't obtain anything whether it was emotion or thought. He was a blank journal. He had no ink on his pages and no marks to show that he ever opened it.

If he was trying so hard to be blank, why was Charles still with him? It didn't make any sense. _Yes, take the boy that you don't want to get involved in any danger with you when it seems you yourself are heading to a potentially dangerous place. Oh yes, it made absolute bloody sense let me tell you. It is clear as day to me, Erik._

_Take me but don't say a damn thing. Absolutely not. That would be too easy. No, no, he had to make it difficult and vague and stupidly mysterious to keep me out of the loop and yet sucked in because I am an idiot that goes after curiosity like a fly to a light. Have me here, but don't let me know why I am here. That would be against the rules!_

_God, Erik you prat. You stupidly mysterious boy. If I wasn't your friend, I might have told you off by now. As it is, I'm surprised I haven't yet._

Even when his rant was all said in done, he didn't find any satisfaction that came with it. He was still here. Still being held by the wrist. Still unable to go back to the quarters where his mother was.

Was his mother alright? Right. He was trying to change to calling her his mum. Was she – his mum – okay? Would she realize he hadn't returned yet like he planned? Goodness, would she even eat? She never left for rations anymore. He didn't even see her get up from the cot except for the poor bathrooms or even the occasional shower when they were allowed!

He couldn't be tugged away from her right now. He was her only family. If only Erik would let go of him he would find a way to get into the quarters (that was, if the soldiers hadn't left yet) to be by her side.

His hopes were futile though so he hoped Edie would make sure she was alright. She seemed sympathetic to his mum anyways. Perhaps that would extend to caring for her? He desperately hoped so.

After all, the Erik he was dealing with wasn't his friend Erik. Not at the moment. His friend Erik would make sure his mum was alright before he left, and he would definitely allow Charles to break off to be with his own. He wouldn't be holding Charles's wrist so tightly it could be bruised later. He wouldn't be this forceful.

This wasn't Erik at all.

Or, maybe it was and Charles hadn't noticed it before?

Nevertheless, Charles took to calling this Erik _"Lehnsherr"_ since it seemed he was more soldier-like than boy by his powerful strides and indifferent face.

Lehnsherr was not pleased. Not in the slightest. Charles wasn't either if that cared to the boy. He wanted to wave his hands in front of Erik's face and shout "I'm here too! Your friend Charles? Yes, he is in fact still here being dragged by your stupidly strong hands!" Would he get a reaction then? Maybe. Where had the portion, the one he knew so well and yet not, go?

Lehnsherr walks past the wooden board that led to the library, maneuvering around debris to get to a small building with the back door swinging idly at its last hinge.

They walked in and all Charles saw was absolutely nothing. Dust filled the room like smoke but there wasn't anything of worth in the room, nothing to note and remember for later.

"Where are we, Erik?"

But Lehnsherr didn't answer and continued to a kitchen-like area in the building, opening a door that led downstairs.

It was here that Charles came to an absolute halt, the headache spiking to such a level that he temporarily forgot what was up and down.

He could feel it. He could feel each and every person down there, their voices, and what they were thinking. They were loud and random and Charles felt his head reach impossible levels of pain. It didn't help that they were shouting as loud as they were verbally, screaming words that they should have known can't be heard. There was too much _anger_ to be healthy. Too many attempts to speak sense that Charles felt like he might be driven to insanity if he had to go down there.

This was too much for him at the moment, but he refused to tell that to Erik. He couldn't, _wouldn't_ look weak. This wasn't Erik that may consider his next move. This was _Lehnsherr_ and who knew what Lehnsherr would do? Pity? Concern? Charles didn't want any of that. He was fine without it. He had been fine without it.

His fingers came up to his temples and he began to rub them in hopes to dispel the migraine that felt more like his skull was splitting than a simple pain in his head. He closed his eyes for a moment but it did as much good as the massaging. Erik at least stopped moving forward thank God. His grip hadn't lessened but at least Charles wasn't going to be forced down those stairs. Not yet.

Lehnsherr, it seemed, was much like the determined Erik he knew. The Erik that would do anything in his power to get his goal. This was the very same feeling just extreme and powerful and not at all as amiable. This wasn't an Erik Charles could be his usual nice self around. It wouldn't do him any favors to be concerned and curious about this boy, but quiet and calculating might do him good.

He resembled those who roamed the street much more now – those who would grimace or frown when Charles showed a light.

Charles didn't like this side of Erik. There was a certain undertone of something that wasn't remotely healthy.

Removing his fingers, he opened his eyes slowly and looked directly at Erik. There was a conflicted emotion on his face. Furrowed brows and a sneer itching to appear. The shield was low at this time. Charles decided to push it. Just a little bit.

_Let me go, Erik._

Those eyes were narrowing now. The walls had snapped back up. Erik didn't like that. He definitely didn't like that. The question was: why?

Charles was unsurprised when he was pulled down the stairs, and, as an afterthought, he pulled the door shut.

At the bottom of the stairs was a cellar-like area. It didn't hold the same glamor of the library or the same appeal. It was murky and had the wrong kind of suspense. Charles didn't like this place. He didn't like the atmosphere, or the expressions of distrust, or the way they watched him, or how this place was dark, filthy, and smelled of a mold unknown to him. The corners were dark and the rest of the room might have been as well if it wasn't for three lamps lined down the center of a long table, a total of 12 chairs surrounding it. 11 of them were filled and only one of the end chairs remaining empty.

Erik dragged him over to the chair, forced him to sit in it, and stood behind it, arms crossed on top of it. Charles felt like this was more of making a statement rather than making him comfortable – if that was ever a goal for Lehnsherr. He didn't have to look at his friend's face to know that there was a "mine" kind of expression.

He looked around the table and saw faces watch him wearily. They were all different, never the same in shape, thought, or form. Some of their tongues flicked out. One had fire flick on his fingers while the other immediately extinguished it with ice. He thought he saw a girl who was slowly becoming invisible and another who had diamonds dancing on her skin. They all had an ability. They all were mutants like Erik and him.

_Charles._ Erik's thoughts reached out to him for the first time in a while. He missed his friend's voice. _Erik's_ voice. _Remember how I told you I wouldn't keep any more secrets from you? This is the last one. The final one._

_But what is this place?_ Charles sent back quickly, not at all pleased with this situation at hand. The blindness made his appreciation – or lack thereof – rather lackluster. He was on edge. Too on edge to be comfortable in Erik's usually reassuring presence.

_My dream, in essence._ Was all Erik said. The dream of escape, then. The one where Edie and he would be taken out safely before the worst ever came to the light.

This was his dream? An assortment of people with amazing – and some frightening – abilities? Charles might have been fascinated if he hadn't felt like he was under a microscope, each movement and expression being analyzed thoroughly.

When Charles met Erik's patient gaze once again, Erik finally said aloud. "The Warsaw Rebellion. The _mutants_."

Then quietly, a whisper of thought. _Our kind._

Charles was quiet as he inspected all their faces, easily separating those who didn't like him and those who were curious.

"Our kind," he repeated softly, his mind screaming "this is a fool's errand" and his ability saying "this was supposed to be." Each wanting his attention. Each being correct in their own right. Each having a foot in Charles door of opportunity and open-minded nature.

Yes, this may be his kind, but how much of it was familial and how much was just for his ability – something that hadn't been brought to the light yet spurred their curiosity?

He didn't know. It was that simple. He didn't know and that was what made his repetition of "our kind" so soft and unnoticeable instead of certain and strong.

…

_Humans are mutants, everything's a mutant – things that evolve. – **Oscar Isaac**_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. It might be a bit confusing, but it's safe to assume that clearly Erik and Charles are not the only mutants in this ghetto. Erik did say he had a dream to get out, but he never clearly stated how he planned to do so. The Warsaw Rebellion is a group of mutants who are all aiming for the same thing. To get out. Anything else is up to each individual, but getting out is their main first priority. Erik is the leader because he gives off the vibe of one and is the most organized and determined of everyone. He never told Charles because he didn't even know his friend was a mutant until a few days ago and he didn't want to rush his friend into the group when he wasn't even remotely acute to his abilities yet. Now, however, with what happened with the soldiers, it's time to. What happened you say? You will find out in the next chapter for certain.
> 
> Also, I am sorely tempted to get these two dorks together and it's physically killing me not to. I will. It will happen I promise and soon because they are cute and between their mumsies and a few of the mutants, it kind of happens. I have maybe two more chapters before I kind of time-skip for the sake of rushing things along. We'll see what happens then. :)
> 
> Have a nice Thanksgiving, if you celebrate it, and have a wonderful day!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _His kind_ weren't entirely welcoming to him. They didn't outright say it, but from what Charles could pick up, they were weary. This group was close-knit and didn't take well to outsiders (such as the odd British kid as he heard often) that had a hook on their leader. They didn't see Charles as one of them yet - only a hindrance to their goal.
> 
>  
> 
> _Well, I suppose I will just have to prove it to them._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a hard chapter to write. I am not proud of it at all. In fact, I really don't like it, but I am tired of going through it - a total of 9 times now - trying to perfect something already terrible. Ugh. So. I will post a better next chapter I promise but please bear with me on this haha...
> 
> Also, because of college finals that I have to take all this week (early due to reasons) I might not be able to post another chapter until next week. Maybe. I do plan to update, but it just depends on how my mind is after I fail my finals.
> 
> I hope you all have a wonderful day! Smile and enjoy the day wherever you are all at! It's currently raining (which I love so no complaints) here so I hope you have weather you all like as well. :)
> 
> By the way, thinking of writing a Assassin's Creed/X-Men crossover kind of. It will mostly have Erik and Charles in it, but there may be other X-men? I don't know. I play the video games and I adore the movie trailer way too much to be remotely healthy so it's just a passing thought. Yes? No?
> 
> If you recognize the fandom, I certainly don't own it.

_The Daily Herald_

_April 7, 1941_

_**FRONT-LINE FORCES HOLDING POSITIONS** _

_Germany claims tonight that her troops which invaded both Jugoslavia and Greece at dawn are "advancing everywhere after overcoming weak resistance."_

_Earlier, Berlin statements admitted stubborn opposition in the neighbourhood of the Struma Valley – the short cut across Greece from Bulgaria to the Aegean Sea. Rome radio, in announcing this, added that the opposition came from British troops._

_A statement in Athena tonight says Greek advance forces on the eastern part of the frontier with Bulgaria are holding their positions everywhere._

…

_His kind_ weren't entirely welcoming to him. They didn't outright say it, but from what Charles could pick up, they were weary. This group was close-knit and didn't take well to outsiders (such as the _odd British kid_ as he heard often) that had a hook on their leader. They didn't see Charles as one of them yet - only a hindrance to their goal.

_Well, I suppose I will just have to prove it to them._

Charles was used to this. Private schools across his home country prepared him for this. For the moment when he would be immediately disliked and only through familiarity and knowing him will they accept him. It hadn't worked at school because he had tried so hard that it looked desperate.

Here? Well, it was second-nature at this point. A part of his charm if you will. Not a façade most certainly – just a part of that "good boy" persona that had been ingrained in him for so long.

He didn't like the situation he was in nor did he appreciate who brought him here, but he also understood, begrudgingly, that Erik (or so he hoped was Erik) probably had the mentality of "it's much better to show the logical know-it-all rather than tell him about it and risk a questionnaire," which he was painfully correct. Charles was able to drink up more information in the past minute than he would have interrogating Erik's life story out of him for an hour.

There was a certain _something_ at stake here if Charles turned out to be not up to par. Clearly, this was a secret. That itself already had Charles liking this just a little bit.

Secrets always made things more interesting, after all.

But then there was a sense of "leadership" that was being questioned. Most of these people were older than Charles and even older than Lehnsherr. Those who were older definitely didn't like falling under the thumb of a younger leader, so this was a proof of leadership showing as well. A statement to show Lehnsherr was more than capable of choosing good people.

In any other circumstance, Charles may have been honored or flattered even – well, if he hadn't been dragged by his own will and certainly not on whatever schedule Lehnsherr had to eventually bring him here.

Oh, but how did he know he was going to be brought here eventually? It certainly wasn't _Erik's_ thoughts. Those were carefully guarded – something that irked Charles immensely because, really, what was he going to do? Sell his secrets? He was his close friend! Why would he do that?

Regardless, he easily picked up the thoughts from the others around the table. Most of them were thinking about "the odd British boy" again but it was with a familiarity, as if Erik had spoken of him to them. It didn't mean they trusted him – because they most certainly didn't in the slightest – but it gave them ground on him.

They were waiting for him. Waiting to see what he would do, what he _could_ do.

Because all they knew was that he was Erik's friend. They knew nothing else besides that point. Charles didn't know if he wanted to be risky and a bit of a show off (something he usually doesn't do to a group of strangers), or if he should be certain and modest. They each had their own perks, each their own demons.

Lehnsherr wasn't giving him any hints now. Everything was up to him. Charles was a bit put off by this, but he knew it was probably for the sake of "a fair and equal test" rather than favoritism.

So, taking a deep breath, Charles met every single one of the 11 attending mutants and then brought up his fingers to his temples. He had never done this before what he was about to do; or at least not on multiple people. He knew he could send his thoughts out, but it had only been one person: Erik.

This was new. What if he messed up?

Well, some people have to run before they can walk.

He forced his eyes to stay open, fighting the headache that came with using his ability too much on the same day. It pulsed in his skull, vibrating harshly as if on a bad frequency. He didn't like it. He didn't like how it tested his concentration. He hoped it didn't mess him up.

_Hello everyone. My name is Charles Xavier. I… hope you can hear me well? If not, I dearly apologize. I haven't quite gotten used to this ability of mine yet, you see. Nevertheless, it is an absolute pleasure to meet all of you._

He left it like that, not sure what else he had to say to prove what he could do. Rambling might put them off and this lot were already on edge. He had to tread carefully on this thin ice.

Gradually, he saw each of their eyes light up. Some were with a curiosity rivaling his own. Some were distaste. Some were just all-around weird that Charles didn't even know where to _begin_ in phrasing it. But they had all reacted. They had all reacted which was more than enough proof that it had _worked_.

Erik leaned forward and Charles could feel the deep voice brush his ear as it said, "Fantastic, Charles. As always." He didn't have to look at him to know he was smirking at the group in front of him, clearly reveling in their confusion and pandemonium expressions to his ability. Erik was proud of his friend. Lehnsherr was content knowing his authority had been cemented.

Charles was a little relieved knowing he impressed both of them.

"A telepath?" The first whispered. English thank goodness.

Not that there was anything wrong with other languages! He was rather well-versed, but English was the only one he could understand when verbally spoken. Less strain on his ability and whatever his head was doing to react to it.

"Perhaps. Projection? No telekinesis?" This was the girl with the diamond skin. Her eyes watched Charles carefully but she gave nothing away. She seemed on-guard about him. Charles for the life of him couldn't figure out why. There was very little he could honestly _do_ at the moment. Probably the least threatening person in the room unless Erik's safety was at risk.

"No. Telepathy and intellect only so far," Erik answered, stepping from behind the chair to stand beside it, a hand on Charles's shoulder.

"So far?" the woman questioned, her lips curling downward. "What do you mean? Shouldn't you already know what he has?" This woman was persistent but scathing. Charles wasn't sure if he liked her. She was beautiful, in an aesthetically-pleasing point of view surely, but her personality and the tone of her thoughts almost blinded that fact. She couldn't have been older than Erik, but her glare gave her a maturity that demanded to be noticed.

"Just discovered recently. No longer than a week at most." This set a whole new wave of conversation throughout the group.

_A week?_ He picked up more than plenty.

_How could he have just learned it?_ Covered half of it.

_Impossible!_ Shouted all.

Charles winced at all their voices, bringing his shoulders up. This was why he didn't wish to come down here. He acted like he never had it – a miracle with how Erik could just look at him to know he was in pain –, but the headache had significantly gotten worse at the discovery of his powers.

Of course, there was no way to turn it off. No way to shut it down. How could you shut down something in your genetic code? If he agreed with any of the thoughts he heard, _"Impossible"_ covered it the best.

Since there was no way he could turn his ability _off_ now that he figured it out, it was a constant building pressure in his head that left him wincing with each pulse vibrating throughout it, the thoughts being rabid bees buzzing around with the loudest noises demanding his utmost attention.

If only everyone would just _quiet down_ , then he could focus. Then he could settle in his skin. But he couldn't ask because that would be rude. To interrupt, he meant. Not to mention that it would make him look incapable. It would make him look _weak_. He couldn't afford that. He couldn't make Erik look bad nor could he make himself look the same.

The diamond girl's eyes drifted over to him. After a second of awkward staring Charles wasn't sure how to react to, she turned to the rest of the table and raised a hand to catch their attention.

"It might be in our best interests to not give the new telepath a headache from your incessant thoughts," she drawled, and Charles felt his face flush as she told them so bluntly. "Erik, go take your new pet away. We'll talk this over later when he _doesn't_ look like he might get sick from the drug. This place is already as revolting as it could get."

Erik's head shot to Charles and even though Charles responded with a weak smile to his friend (definitely Erik at this point), his mind was already reeling from her words. Indignation sparked as he replied to the woman, keeping his voice even but firm like his fathers'. "No. No, I'm fine. Truly. Please continue on what you all are discussing. I would hate to interrupt this meeting because of my silly headache. This is nothing I haven't handled before."

"It's not a 'silly headache' if you are borderline keeling in incapacitating pain, Charles," the girl slowly, her eyes narrowing as if trying to assess him.

"I am fine," he gritted out stubbornly. The individuals at the table were looking back and forth between them, their thoughts actually relatively quiet as he and the girl quarreled.

"Ah, yes. What is your definition of 'fine,' Charles? Is fine when you're having a problem focusing or is it when you look pale as a ghost? Please tell me. I would love to know for future reference," she droned unamused, her lips tilted downward. "You don't get extra credit points for putting on a brave front here. Do yourself a favor and go rest. Clearly you need it."

Charles was about to counter when Erik went to his side instantly and shook his head in attempts to silence Charles apparently. The 15-year-old opened his mouth, exasperated. He wasn't one to back down. Everyone who knew him knew this. Erik definitely by this point. "Erik. Please. I am absolutely fine. Stop your silly worrying."

"No, Emma is right." So her name was Emma. At least he had a name for her now. "We should leave for now. The guards should be gone."

"But the way you acted on the way here! You simply cannot abandon whatever you were about to discuss because I have a little bit of a headache. It's really nothing. I can take care of it myself." Charles thinned his lips, watching Erik as he narrowed his eyes at him. He wasn't amused. He never was when Charles made his problems out to be "smaller than they were" which was ridiculous. He knew _exactly_ how large his problems were. "You have important business to talk about. I can last while you do so. I will not die just because I can't handle a few ravaging thoughts."

Erik flinched at the word "die" but otherwise said nothing.

Emma looked at Erik and then sighed. "It seems the meeting will proceed. Erik, you really are smitten with him. My goodness." But she ceased pressuring Charles about leaving.

The rest of the room breathed a sigh collectively and Charles realized that apparently no one truly stood up to Emma. They didn't know what would happen to the _"stubborn Charles"_ as they had altered his name to be.

Charles made to get out of the chair, but Erik had a firm hand on his shoulder to keep him down. 

"Erik, this is obviously your chair. I can stand. It's not too much trouble for me to do so," he protested but Erik sent an image back at him. 

Charles was pale and his lips a little duller. He had shadows under his eyes and he was shaking quite visibly. He still had a gleam of determination in those blue eyes, however. It seemed that it would never be taken from him. There was a little narrowing around his eyes where the pain interfered, but other than that he was fine. 

_I am fine_ Charles insisted, though even then it sounded weak. His own thoughts sounded weak. That should have been a warning sign enough. This was where he should have listened to Emma and Erik. 

_No. You are not 'fine,' Charles. Stop being a stoic, nonchalant boy._

Charles puffed out his cheeks at the term "boy" (even though he used it quite often himself) but said nothing as he relaxed into the chair. 

Erik exchanged looks with Emma and nodded. 

"The meeting will begin," she stated loudly, quieting any minor conversation throughout the table. 

Immediately, everyone stopped what they were doing and sat a little straighter. They all had a serious expression on their face, a "business" expression. Something Charles had seen on his father at one point when he followed him to work. 

Before the first word was spoken, a thought came to Charles and he sent it to Erik slowly, relieved to the find the walls absolutely demolished now from before. 

_Erik, do all of these individuals speak German?_

_In a sense. It's their primary language but English seems to be growing lately in certain parts of Poland and Germany. They can understand it to a point like I can._

_I see._ Charles kept any further questions from popping out of his mouth when he saw Emma send them an exasperated glare. 

"Really, Erik. You didn't tell him anything did you?" She pushed her long blond hair behind her shoulders and tapped her nails against the table. "The poor dear. You didn't even fill him in as to what we are having this meeting _for_ , did you?" 

"I had other priorities, Emma," _Lehnsherr_ bit out. Charles might have bristled at the tone, but Emma merely scoffed and shook her head. Clearly, she was more used to this than he was. 

_Don't worry. I can translate anything you don't understand, darling._ She winked at him before returning her attention to the meeting. 

Charles was confused by her shift in temperament but figured not to question it. She was shifty and weird. He didn't know what to make of her and it was probably better to not try. 

"Three mutants attempted to leave," Erik spoke slowly. "Failed. Didn't anticipate what we already knew." 

"As we discussed last time we were here, the wall consists of a barrier that is carefully shielded. The top of it looks like barbed wire and guard posts, however, Erik and I have been watching it for a while now and there's a certain shimmer in reality when whoever is running it falters. We are still unsure what it really is." 

"The guards are aware of mutant involvement. Don't know who responsible, though," Erik stressed. "Have to lie low for time being. Any abilities will cause assumptions." 

"What abilities were involved?" One of the younger boys questioned, the same age as Charles it appeared. 

"Levitation, for one," Emma answered easily. "Levitation, Copy-cat, and Fire. All of them appeared to be inept in their abilities, however, which might have been the core cause of their failure. They rushed in without assessing the scene. Rash. Stupid." 

"Copy-cat?" Charles couldn't help but ask but after he said it, he felt everyone's stare on him. As a habit, he sat straighter in the chair. The shakes throughout his body increased with the added stress but he ignored it. "Can you explain?" 

Nobody said anything for a long minute. Charles almost wondered if he was allowed to speak at all when a girl to his right cleared her throat. "Yes. I would like to know as well, actually. Good question, Charles." 

She glanced at him and he gave her a grateful look, thankful that she had come to his aid. She offered a smile and returned her attention to the meeting. 

"Very well. A "Copy-Cat" ability is when one person can imitate another person's ability. It has its restrictions though from what Erik and I have seen. Some can replicate mental abilities. Some can do physical. No matter what side they are on, they can only mirror abilities that they themselves would be able to physically take on." Emma shrugged. "A scrawny brat can't take on an ability with Olympian level strength. A girl who can't read can't have the ability to be a super genius. It all depends on the person." 

"What were the restrictions for this Copy-Cat?" Charles asked immediately, taking this in eagerly. It was utterly fascinating hearing all of this. 

Emma shrugged again though this time it was more forced than nonchalant. She wasn't happy with the response she was about to give. "We don't know yet. I will have to assume physical since a mental ability could have been used as masking, no matter what ability it was, and it was never used in their attempt. The soldiers clearly new it was a mutant therefore the best assumption is physical. A shame really." 

Charles was temporarily appeased with this and quieted down. The girl to his right looked at him again and rolled her eyes as if she couldn't stand Emma. She had a ponytail holding back brown curls and hazel eyes that seemed to darken and lighten constantly. What was her ability? Charles wanted to know. 

He wanted to know all their abilities, actually. He wanted to maybe even become friends with all of them to a point, just to know them and be allowed to actually understand what type of person they are and what they could do. But he had a feeling they wouldn't appreciate if he kind of bombarded them suddenly, much like he had to Erik. 

The rest of the meeting went on smoothly. The thoughts of the others were not quite mute but they were softer and didn't make his head feel like it was going to split open. Even so, he felt worn out by the end. Worn out and weak and still as shaky if not more so than before. He didn't know why this was and the only conclusion was that maybe he had used his ability too much and the drug was attempting to put him down to keep him in check. 

It was working, Charles hated to admit. His hands alone were quivering so badly that he was forced to clench them and keep them to his sides to stifle them. He felt sick. Sick to his stomach and utterly drained. 

But he didn't say anything to Erik as Erik extended a hand for him to grab. He mustered as much force as he could when he grabbed the hand, but even so, Erik had to do most of the work to get him up. 

The other mutants eyed them curiously. Their motives had changed considerably throughout the meeting. Most of them liked him now and found him absolutely fascinating for some reason while others just had an amiable curiosity. Emma seemed to be the only quiet one as she watched on, standing by the chair as the others sifted out of the room. 

When it was only Erik and Charles (and really, why hadn't they started moving? How long had they just stood there?) Emma waltzed over and looked Charles up and down, her expression perplexed. Erik beside him was stiff and had a hand wrapped securely around Charles's waist. If it wasn't for the fact that Charles felt quite faint, he might have joked with the boy about how he should take him on a date first. 

"There is something wrong," he thought he heard Erik say, but he couldn't quite be sure. His hearing was awfully off. He thought he heard some things, like his own heart beating, but he had difficulty hearing anything from around him. 

"I'm fine, Erik. Please cease your worrying. You do it far too much," He assured Erik though that only made the hold he had on Charles even tighter as Charles felt his balance tip for a split second. 

"Something is wrong," Emma murmured and leaned over to tilt Charles face up (when had it lowered?). Her fingers were cold and Charles found it a lot better than whatever temperature he was at. She moved his head from side to side and finally settled a stare on him. 

He felt like something was searching through his head and he immediately fended it off, imagining a wall upon an impulse he didn't understand, and he watched with a little satisfaction as Emma seemed to blink in surprise. 

"You said he only learned his ability this past week?" She removed her fingers and Charles found he missed it quite terribly. It was fine. He was fine. If he just got outside, he would be fine with the cold wind on his face waking his senses. He just needed to get outside. "Let me guess: You have been training him like a dog, haven't you?" 

"I haven't," Erik stated sharply and Charles found himself shaking his head as well. 

"He hasn't. He's been quite the gracious host teaching me all of this. Not too hard on me." 

"Charles, forgive me for saying so, but you are not in the best state of mind to be defending Erik here, darling." Emma patted his cheek before sighing. "You will have to get him to eat something and make sure he sleeps. Look at his eyes. He hasn't slept in days, or at least not a restful sleep. You were right to assume he has great potential, but that same potential may backlash on him until he gets his hand on it." 

"So it's nothing serious then?" Charles frowned at Erik's strained tone. He needed to stop worrying. Such a worry-wart Erik was. He didn't have to fret over Charles's wellbeing. He was capable of taking care of himself. 

"Not yet but it could get worse. The great potential he is growing aware of is gradually increasing the pain and work of the drug. He's basically being put in more and more pain as his ability adapts and changes with his realization. The lack of sleep is only making it worse since he can't focus on masking his ability, as you and I." She began walking up the stairs and Erik followed, gingerly leading Charles along even though he was perfectly capable to walk himself. "He has to adapt. He's not used to it and neither is the drug." 

"Eating on each other," Erik murmured and Emma nodded. 

"Indeed. It's quite the miracle that he hasn't passed out yet as is." 

Erik seemed to smile for a second. "He's a lot more stubborn than you give him credit for. Won't go down without a fight." 

"And that's why you like him so much, isn't it?" She had a little smirk playing on her lips as she opened the door for Erik and Charles. Once in the light, Charles saw that Erik's face was a little red but disregarded it as the cold weather which was much more pleasant on his skin than the musty air below. 

"We are friends, Erik and I. He would have to like me to be friends, no?" Charles replied. His words sounded soft and slightly slurred but both Emma and Erik seemed to hear him clearly. 

"Shush, Charles. Don't speak," Erik breathed into his ear _(and this was definitely Erik now and not Lehnsherr. Lehnsherr wouldn't be holding him up. Lehnsherr would leave him be. Groveling in the dirt. Watching from the top with a frown and a quote from someone before stalking off.)._ Charles shook his head but found nothing to say in retaliation that wasn't 'I'm fine' which at this point he might have to accept he wasn't. 

Somewhere along the way back Emma had drifted away but Charles couldn't remember when. The headache was ever persistent and he hardly heard anything besides Erik muttering to himself a repeated set of instructions. He couldn't make out the words, but he knew they were said over and over again. 

Something was setting in his stomach. Charles could feel it. Something was settling in there and was cold and chilly and it made Charles's skin uncomfortably clammy. His feet began to shuffle and trip over themselves and Charles had enough sense to tell Erik through thought _I think something is very wrong_ before collapsing to Erik's shout of his name. 

… 

The night was an odd one for Charles. Or was it day? He couldn't tell anymore. He couldn't remember much at all really – only glimpses. 

He thought at one point he saw his mother bent over him dabbing a wet piece of cloth to his skin, but that would be impossible. She hadn't moved since he got there and barely acknowledged him. No, he must have been delusional. 

Another time he woke up for a split second and saw Erik sitting against the wall beside the window with his mum. They were whispering very quietly to themselves in the language Charles hardly knew when he heard it but understood perfectly through thought. He was back under before any of them noticed he had even woken up. 

Everything else was a mixture of soft murmurs from Erik, the feeling of someone running fingers through his hair, and the brief sense that he might have been doused in cold water at one point. 

The first time he woke up completely lucid, it was night. His mother was next to him, her arm actually wrapped around him securely as he tentatively stretched, both mentally and physically. He felt parched and starving. The moon was high in the sky, though, so no doubt Charles would be better off sleeping than wanting food. 

That was if he could sleep. 

It was impossible. More impossible than impossible. He was, sadly, wide awake; or, at least, awake enough that it may take him a little bit to calm down and pass back out again. 

His shirt was soaked and crinkled with dried sweat, but at least the clamminess of his skin had gone away. That must mean he broke his fever – not that he remembered having one really. 

The headache, as always, was still there but it had faded back into its usual numbness. That was the pleasure of night time when everyone was asleep. No one really thought so loudly that Charles had to pay attention. They were dreaming and while Charles could prod, he chose to revel in the brief silence. 

Maybe if he just stared at the moon outside he could lull back to sleep. 

Or see if he recognized any of the constellations. That could work, too! One of the few things his father taught him just for fun. 

Or… well, anything else required moving or something else Charles couldn't quite due in the middle of the night. But he could find something. He was good at improvising, so if he just thought of this as a test then he could surely think of something, right? 

It only took a moment for him to realize he was terribly, irrevocably, absolutely bored. To the point that he felt his fingers drumming against the cot and knew his mind was counting how many cracks were in the ceiling. After he thought he counted nearly 147 just in the immediate 3 by 3-meter area, he felt the travesty of boredom consume him. 

He couldn't even be impatient. He couldn't because what was he waiting for? Daylight? What would he do then? It was silly to anticipate a day he hardly knew what was going to happen. 

_Charles. I swear if you don't quiet your thoughts I might get a headache from it alone._

He nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard the groan and looked at the wall next to the window. Shuffling in the shadows was Erik. He seemed to be blinking out sleep and a frown was settling on his lips from being awoken. 

Charles at least had the audacity to look abashed. "I'm terribly sorry, my friend. Please ignore me. I'll be quiet. I didn't mean to disturb your sleep." Erik's finger went up to silence him, effectively cutting off what Charles was about to say. 

_It's fine. I needed to wake up to make sure you were okay anyways._ Charles felt a thrum of pain in the back of his mind from communicating with Erik but it was kitten's play compared to what he felt before. This he could certainly handle. It was just a little backlash from using it so fast after whatever happened to him. 

Erik sighed as he crawled over to Charles's cot and Charles meant it literally when he said crawled. Erik didn't even so much as stand when he moved over, simply shuffling (rather adorably really if Charles was allowed to say) over. He didn't seem keen on moving which made Charles feel guilty. He would have apologized again but he didn't know if Erik would be annoyed by it or would just brush it off so he remained quiet. 

A hand was placed against his forehead. It was cold but that was from the cold air that had followed winter in. _No fever. Good. Any pains? How is your head?_

"I am fine, Erik." 

_Last time I heard that one you collapsed before we even got back here._ He thought dryly and Charles winced. 

"I was fine until that moment. I really mean it this time. I feel like I could race a horse if that makes you feel any better." 

_We'll see in the morning._ Erik sighed and collapsed on the cot, nudging Charles to move over. It was difficult with his mum's arm around him, but he managed to make enough room for his friend. Just barely but Erik didn't seem to mind. 

"How much sleep have you gotten since I last was awake?" Charles asked softly, seeing Erik's eyes close. 

_Not much. Only when my mutter forced me to go sleep while she watched you. You were in and out for at least 2 days. A lot has happened since you were last up._

His eyes opened now but not without a little reluctance. _For one, your mother actually took care of you. She moved and wouldn't allow anyone near you. She allowed my mutter and myself only because she knew us. She had also listened to you talk about us all those times you did. Anyways, everyone else was not to be trusted. It was quite the sight. We didn't know what shocked her. Still, don't._

Charles was surprised, to say the least, and looked at his mother who slept peacefully at his side. When Erik resumed, he turned his attention back to his tired friend. 

_The mutants were caught. They were stupid enough to try again so soon after their first attempt and were caught in the act. Luckily, it was no one in the Rebellion, but we still have to lie low for the meantime. Too dangerous. They may shoot on sight if we so much as showed our abilities._

"I see," Charles murmured before nudging his friend. "Sleep. You look absolutely dreadful." 

"Thanks." 

"I am simply telling the truth, my friend. You look like you may pass out on your way back to your own space so rest here for the night." He felt a smile lift the corners of his mouth as he whispered teasingly. "I promise I won't do anything. You can count on me. Scout's honor." 

A twitch of a grin fought at Erik's lips. "Definitely a kid. Who says scout's honor?" 

"Only the best kind of people, I assure you," Charles replied easily, finding this banter easier to breathe than the stress of the camp. "And I am not a kid. If I counted correctly, I will be 16 in less than 2 weeks from now. 9 days exactly. So shush." 

"Still a kid no matter how old you are," Erik murmured but the effect was lost with how the words slurred together after the other. 

"Not a kid," he reminded once again but by this time Erik's breathing had evened out and he was fast asleep. 

_He must have been completely exhausted. How little sleep had he_ truly _gotten?_ Charles thought as he watched his friend look more at peace than he had ever really seen him. If he looked closer at Erik's eyes, he could see the shadows where they began to appear. _You worry wart. You really are one of the most selfless people I may have the pleasure of knowing._

Charles didn't know how long he watched Erik's chest rise and fall before he felt his eyes begin to feel heavy. Perhaps it was the fact that he was awkwardly transfixed on his friend's breathing, but it helped calm him down considerably. He felt as if he might follow soon after him. 

_Finally._

Yawning, Charles cherished the warmth of his mum and friend and fell into a restful sleep for once in a very long week. 

…. 

The morning found him slowly. His face was pressed into something warm that kept the light from piercing his head with shouts of getting up. There was a hand around him protectively, though it might still be his mother's hand and didn't think about it much. Sighing, he snuggled up to the warmth next to him and reached out to grab a piece of the shirt. 

He always had that habit. It never died in him. Every attachment he made never lasted so he tended to hold onto physical items that those people used. This sometimes led him to holding onto the hem of his mum's dress when he was younger or onto his father's discarded journals as he grew to love science and, specifically, biology. Now, he found the need to hold onto a piece of the shirt in his hand. Just a pinch. Enough to know someone was there. 

Slowly, his memory of the night before came back to him. He didn't attempt to rush it. He was comfortable and could wait as long as necessary. No complaints from him whatsoever. 

Everything was fine until he heard a small chuckle and then two female voices whispering quietly. 

He recognized both of them easily and his telepathy, albeit a bit slow, confirmed it for him. 

He didn't want to move. He definitely didn't want to move. Everyone, including his parents, knew how completely useless he was unless he was woken up after 10:00 in the morning. 

He couldn't do anything right. Walk into walls, use a fork instead of a spoon to stir his tea, even so much as attempted to read a book upside down. His head would be an outright mess and his words would be a combination of his usual speech to words that didn't even exist. 

Right now it felt more like 9:30, and he was definitely not going to move until he felt good and ready to. He just knew it would be his luck that he would hear someone's thoughts and respond to them. Now wouldn't that be a one-way ticket to a soldier visit? No, thank you. 

The body next to him seemed as content with his decision. Good. Glad they good come to an agreement. Pleasure doing business. 

But, of course, just because he wasn't going to move didn't mean that he was just going to fall back asleep. So he was completely aware to the mothers' whispers of gossip and exactly what they said. 

Nobody liked their mothers talking about them – praise or otherwise. This was definitely no exception. Charles felt like he might die on the inside. Just a little bit. 

"Cute, are they not?" 

"They are. I didn't know Erik could be so affectionate. Except to me, that is." 

"Ah, Charles has always been like this. He attracts people. I believe he gets it from me more than his father on that matter but that is beside the point. He's just a… likable, good boy. People seem to gravitate around him." 

"Oh? Then it's good he met Erik. Erik is the opposite. I worried for him." 

Charles felt the body next to him suddenly not be okay with the fact that conversation was being directed to him. _Well, join the party, sir. I am absolutely mortified._ He knew at that point any further sleep for himself was out of the picture and sighed, opening his eyes reluctantly to face the day in the smallest increments physically possible. 

Erik's face was the first sight he saw. Charles had to take a moment to recalibrate his systems before he remembered that he told Erik to stay because he looked like death with his level of exhaustion. Right. 

The boy's eyes were closed, but it wasn't for sleep. No, his friend was definitely not sleeping, and Charles felt a smile twitch at the corner of his lips when he realized he was trying to tone out their mother's gossip as much as he was. A mutual demon of proud, worried mothers that they both had to suffer for dearly. 

It took him a second to realize that the hand around him was Erik's as well. This confused him, though. Why was it there? 

Charles wasn't really complaining. Just curious was all. 

He didn't want to move the arm around him for two reasons no matter what the reason may be. One, he didn't want to alert Erik if the boy didn't mean to do it. He was already prone to overthinking a mess up as it was. The other was that he… actually didn't mind, again. Not really. It was nice and warm and Charles for once felt like he actually could feel his bones in the morning rather than a numb lump of ice. Emphasize: _Useless._

But he didn't know why Erik would do it. Maybe it was the protective streak in him? That would make sense. He spoke of how his mum wouldn't allow anyone near him, but Erik can be just as bad. 

Maybe it went hand in hand with that emotion that flitted across Erik's face a few days ago – the one he couldn't discern. 

He still didn't know what it was though so what good would it do him? 

None quite frankly. 

Charles let out a sigh which changed to a snicker when Erik's nose seemed to wrinkle. 

_Your breath is rather horrendous this morning, Häschen._

_Uh huh. Well, I am so sorry that I do not have the liberty to a toothbrush and so on, darling. I'm afraid you will just have to deal with it._

_A monstrosity. I demand a refund for this._

_Oh? What kind? I'm open to options as long as I don't have to move quite yet. I am too comfortable and it will take the force of mother nature to get me off this cot. And it's not metal so not even you can do anything._

A smile broke on Erik's face, and his eyes opened to see the same distance that Charles had noticed immediately. 

The slip of his smile was almost instantly replaced with something akin to a stricken grimace. Charles heard alarms go off in his head and reached out to Erik immediately. 

_Did I do anything? What had happened? I was sleeping next to him – not anything more than that!_ Was what met Charles's thoughts and he furrowed his brow at the boy. 

He understood that this was a little weird to wake up to, but really, he could care less. He was cold and he was certain that even Erik, furnace as he was, was cold, too. This was more than fine in those scenarios. Survival of the fittest, right? 

_Erik, what are you possibly going on about? This is not bad. We are friends, are we not? I think this is allowed, wouldn't you? Or perhaps my definition is wrong. Either way, don't fret over it and please stop jumping to conclusions. My goodness, darling._

Erik's face seemed to redden after he mentioned the word "friends," the frown deepening for a moment before disappearing altogether in relief. 

_Right. Friends. What was I thinking?_

_I just told you._ Charles couldn't help but respond, a little relieved that Erik didn't remove his arm. 

"They are rather cute together, are they not?" he heard his mum repeat once again, and his body froze temporarily. Right. He forgot that they were still here. Did they know that Erik and he were awake? He desperately hoped not. If this was what they talked about when they were asleep, he dreaded what they may do if they knew they were awake. 

"They are. Erik took a liking to Charles but I sense something else. Intuition. You?" 

"Oh certainly. I… didn't talk much to Charles, but from what he told me about Erik, he seems almost infatuated with the boy. But he wouldn't know much about it so I don't worry. Rather naïve that one." 

"Yours, too? Hm…" 

They quieted down again and Charles had to close his eyes to keep his embarrassment under control, leaning his head forward until it connected with Erik's forehead. He heard Erik releasing a sigh of his own. 

_So you talk about me often, hm? Infatuated, Charles?_

If Charles wasn't trying so hard to remain in the moment of warmth, he might have pushed Erik away as retaliation. 

_You wish._ He said automatically while trying to think of a different topic. 

But Erik already had a comeback. Of course, he did. _You would be the first to know, wouldn't you?_

At this point, it was hard to hold back the urge and Charles figured it was more than time to get up. Stretching, he felt Erik remove his arm and do the same, an amused expression on his face almost completely hidden as Charles sat up. 

"You have bed head." 

Charles pushed him off the cot, watching with amusement as he seemed to gasp at the cold floor and sit up. 

He should have expected Erik and Charles's mothers to decide to speak up. 

"Ah, you are both finally alive we see," Edie said. "Charles, how are you feeling? You gave your mum quite the fright the other day when you came in unconscious and sick as a dog." 

"I am much better, thank you for the concern," Charles said naturally, and he saw his mother smile proudly at his manners. It was probably the first time she had ever looked proud of anything he had done. He couldn't help but feel satisfied himself. 

"Oh, no need to thank me. Erik did most of the caring. Never left your side." 

Charles swerved his gaze over to Erik and found him glaring resolutely at a piece of metal in his hands (where did that come from?), bending it and torturing the poor piece as if it was the cause of his embarrassment. "Oh, really? Erik, is this right?" 

"You are my friend." 

"The way he acted was worse than me," Charles's mum sighed as she tapped a finger to her chin. "More like he was your guardian or fancy rather than a friend. It was cute, don't get me wrong, but he hardly cared about himself during all of it." 

"Miss Xavier!" Erik hissed in exasperation but his mum merely grinned smugly. 

"What? Did you really expect me to keep quiet about this to my own son? You should know better, Erik." 

"Yes, Erik. Please tell Charles how you even disobeyed me to remain at his side." Erik's mum had her hands on her hips. 

Erik looked absolutely horrified by his awful luck that Charles couldn't help but laugh. It was a healthy laugh, something he hadn't done often enough here. He felt he should have felt bad for it but even when he tried to shush it, it only quieted down to small snickers under his breath. It was great seeing Erik on the other end of relentless teasing for once. Even if it wasn't him making Erik's face red, he found pleasure in it all the same. 

Nevertheless, he was a little concerned with his friend. After all, the night before he had found out that he hardly slept since Charles was sick. What else had he ignored? 

"He has been giving all his rations to you when he should be eating them himself," Erik's mum answered his thoughts. 

"Erik!" Charles gasped, almost willing to throttle his friend. "My goodness. You are such a dolt sometimes! I can't get mad at you for sleep much since I'm a little bad myself, but eating? If I had known this, I would have shooed you off instead of taken your food!" 

"Oh, you tried, dear," his mum spoke. "But you weren't quite convincing with the fever ringing high. Erik just brushed it aside and gave you his meals anyways." 

He couldn't believe he was hearing this. "You are such a-" He couldn't finish the sentence, unable to think of a word to express his frustrations. "I swear, you are possibly the most stubborn boy I know! You know what? You are taking my rations tonight. No if, ands, or buts in the matter." 

"Charles-" 

"No. I will not listen, Erik. You will not _starve_ because of me. I won't allow it." 

"I-" Charles settled a look on him and he caved, muttering, "Fine." 

"Got him wrapped around his finger, doesn't he?" Charles's mum murmured and Edie nodded, a little smile on her face. 

Erik and Charles both ignored their comments and Charles was about to get onto Erik all over again about how important his bloody health was when a soldier marched into the living quarters. 

The tension in the room spiked to the point that it was suffocating. No one seemed to move except for Erik who shifted to slowly get in front of Charles. The air had thickened into ice. Not sluggish cold water with moments where it seemed to thaw and warm, but a harsh, frigid ice that was far from melting or even giving off a glint of water. 

Following the soldier were two other men, these two with weapons at their side. They didn't look friendly. They didn't look remotely inviting. 

They said something and Charles felt like he had been sucked out of the group in this room by the way everyone reacted. Erik seemed to borderline bare his teeth. Charles's mum gasped out and Edie seemed to be glaring with all her might at the men. 

Everyone else in the room was giving off different vibes of _anger, distress, annoyance,_ and the tangible feeling of _fear._ He didn't know what the soldiers had said, but he knew it wasn't pleasant and that was all it took for him to go rigid next to Erik. 

The soldiers left the quarters without further ado and all was quiet for a moment before conversation broke out. Charles felt his head begin to hurt from everyone's rampaging thoughts. They were loud. Too loud. He had just recovered from the last time he wasn't used to this. He didn't think he would be okay if he did it again so soon. 

He reached out and tugged at Erik, unable to speak with his focus entirely on sorting out the flood in his head. 

_Quiet. I need quiet._

Erik understood quickly and exchanged a knowing look with their mothers before leading Charles out of the room, Charles's fingers grasping at his shirt. Almost as if second-nature they headed to the secluded area once again and it was there that Charles collapsed against the wall, pulling his legs to his chest and cradling his head for a moment. 

His friend sat next to him but he seemed hesitant to do anything else. It was fine. Charles didn't need any comfort at the moment. His presence was more than enough. 

It was just this blasted headache! It had gotten worse. More painful than when he first arrived here. Why? He desperately wanted to know and then figure out how to stop it. It really was ruining him and his sanity in the process. 

But he couldn't tell Erik that. 

"It's just the headache, Erik. I just needed a quiet place away from those thoughts. Somewhere I knew which words bouncing around were my own thoughts and not someone else's." 

"I understand, Häschen." 

Rubbing his temples, something that may become a bad habit at this rate, Charles decided to avert the subject away from him. "What was said? I couldn't quite catch on." 

Erik let out an angry huff and resorted to thought, prodding gently and only saying his words when Charles gave the nod. _Because of the mutant attempt at escape, they are administering another dose of the drug. This one is said to be stronger and we are the ones, as in this ghetto, to be given it first. Guinea pigs. It seems like we might have to talk with the others sooner than I thought._

"When are they to administer it?" 

_I don't know. Soon. That was all they said. It will be given soon and without prompt. It might occur as we sleep or they may separate us into groups and bring us separately. I truly do not know which is not something I can happily admit._

Charles felt his lips thin at the idea of a stronger drug. He had just gotten his ability by fending it off and finding a small loophole. What would this one bring? More pain? Total disconnection? Charles wouldn't be able to handle it. He had taken to his ability so quickly that having it stripped from him was like taking a part of his DNA and shutting it down. 

He heard footsteps crunch against the debris-filled soul and tensed, reaching out to scan the area. 

Who he saw was Emma, oddly enough. Erik beside him wasn't surprised at all. 

"Emma? Why are you here?" Charles asked hesitantly, bring his hands down to rest atop his knees. She smiled (though it didn't seem at all as warming as Erik's smiles. More "appearance" than reality), brushing her blonde hair behind her shoulders once again and fixed the white dress she wore all in one motion. 

"Erik sent for me. It seems he wants me to train you." 

"Train me?" Charles looked to Erik and he nodded. "In what manner are we speaking?" 

"In what manner do you think, Charles?" She rolled her eyes. "Your telepathy and whatever else you can do, obviously." 

"How can you help me?" 

Emma gave a ruthless little smirk before tapping the side of her head. "You're not the only one, Charles. Just perhaps the stronger one, though I say that with a handful of salt on my part. I always overcome obstacles. You are no different, though think of it more as a rivalry than something worse." 

_Duly noted._ "What will you teach me?" 

"Do you remember how you attempted to get into Erik's head a few days ago and found a wall in its place? I was the one to teach him that. Handy little trick. One of few I can help you master before the Rebellion acts. Several that may help you and Erik when the new drug is given," her lips turned into a disgusted scowl as she muttered this. "I can't believe our luck." 

Charles had to agree there. He had a feeling that Erik would have waited longer for Charles and Emma to become more acquainted before having her teach him, to build some sort of trust, but this drug really was a catalyst to skipping a few steps. 

"So, what can you do, Charles?" 

He laughed a little and rubbed the back of his neck. "Nothing much at the moment I fear. I can hear thoughts, translate them if need be, and send my own thoughts out and memories. That's all I am aware of, though." 

Emma tilted her head from side to side and then leveled a look with Erik, disappointment and exasperation seeming to pin him to the spot. "You are very lucky I actually like you, darling. And that your little pet is such a dear that disliking him is physically impossible and may take God himself to enforce." Then, she clapped her hands and motioned for Charles to get up. "Alright. Follow me, Charles. We have work to do." 

….. 

_"By the pricking of my thumbs,_

_Something wicked this way comes."_

_**– William Shakespeare, Macbeth** _


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What has gotten into you, my friend? Is there something wrong? Something I am not aware of?"
> 
> "Everything, Charles. Everything." And that was the only answer he got as he finished the protection for his friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Kind of iffy on the chapter but I don't think I can make it better at this point. I'm sorry. Next chapter isn't so bad I think.
> 
> By the way, living off Cinnabon Cinnamon Roll coffee which is absolutely freaking heavenly. I swear. My room smells like cinnamon rolls which, in combination with my Cherik music playlist and my cocoon of blankets around my person, makes me a happy person indeed. Happy enough to edit and write some chapters long due haha...
> 
> Have a nice day of course. :)
> 
> Don't own the fandom. I wish I did.

Charles didn't know how many days he spent with Emma in the library, but he knew that he was getting better at what she taught him.

At first, he didn't like her teaching him, and much less the idea that he was being taught in the same area that both he and Erik had chosen as their own for Erik's teachings.

And wasn't that silly? It was a general area so no attachments should be made! But he still found himself not liking it against all rational thought. He couldn't help it. It was _their_ place.

Of course, he didn't tell Emma this. He didn't want to seem like some rude prat who had a bad case of attachment issues. It was just something that kept nagging at the back of his skull that occasionally made his mood a bit bitter when Erik wasn't with them; because Erik wasn't always there when she taught him. Half the time he would lean against one of the bookshelves and watch them steadily, or he would sit down beside Charles and play with a piece of metal but the other half he would be working with the Rebellion or something else.

It really didn't matter _what_ he was doing. His presence made Charles happier.

It wasn't that he didn't trust Emma because he did to a point. He just didn't quite get a good vibe from her. He didn't know what set it off, but he only got it when Erik _wasn't_ there. Like she was hiding something from him and she felt Charles wasn't a threat.

This led to the main reason he was sour when Erik was gone. His lack of presence made Emma lower her own walls just a little; enough that Charles could get a glimpse of the festering darkness in her thoughts. He didn't like it. He didn't like that she was quiet about it. He most certainly didn't like how she was with Erik for certain.

What was she to Erik? Charles knew that they were friends. _That_ was obvious. The way they bickered and seemed to know each other better than Charles knew Erik gave that off easily enough.

But what he didn't like and bristled confusingly at was when she would let her hand linger on Erik's arm when she left, or give him a kiss on the cheek, or when she called him "love" which was something even Charles didn't call Erik (and by now he had grown almost flamboyant in his throwing around of endearments). All of these things gave off mini alarms that maybe, just _maybe_ , she was Erik's possible _significant other_.

Charles didn't like this at all. He didn't like it and what was worse was that he couldn't pin _why_.

This feeling appeared after the day he finally came to from the sickness. The morning when Erik and he were thinking back and forth and Charles was basically being a vampire and sucking all the warmth he could muster from his friend. The morning that both of their mothers had decided to embarrass them to an early grave.

It was just a small feeling. Something that made him confused because he never really experienced the emotion before, but then again he had never met anyone like Erik. So how was he to know what it was?

So he remained quiet through all of it. He kept it under wraps, this stewing jealousy he thought it was, when he was with Erik and Emma. Especially like this day.

Emma had pulled a chair from somewhere in the library and was sitting on it. Her legs were crossed and her arms folded across her chest as she watched Charles.

Even if he didn't like how she was to Erik, he couldn't complain about her teaching. She was an excellent teacher, if not a little biting, and made sure what she taught was thoroughly understood and could be reflected with satisfaction from Charles.

It was a process. She would tell him the name of the "trick," as she called them, and then would show what it was. This was the only moment Charles could actually enter her mind and see a little more than the foreboding darkness. After she expressed it, she would tell Charles what to do, what to imagine, what to think about for best results, and then would leave him to it to master the tactic. If he succeeded to counter her attempts to invade his head or if he did better than _her_ she would give a satisfied nod and move on.

This day was a little different. Just a little. Erik was with them for once in the three days he had not been, which made Charles more amiable. _Just by coincidence_ , he told himself.

Emma was teaching him how to create an impenetrable wall in his mind. It wasn't all that hard. He had done it to her back in the morbid basement by accident, but actually learning the process behind it was nice. It made more sense to him as did everything else she taught him.

She was throwing everything at his wall at the moment. Charles stared from the other side of his as she tried every possible tool in the book on his wall. He was amazed at how sturdy it was. He felt he could hold back everything – like nothing could get through. It was, admittedly, a really good feeling.

And when she finally, reluctantly, pulled back, he had to grimace when he tore down the walls he liked before.

It wasn't that they hurt him when he put them up. They definitely didn't. In fact, they made things so much better and he could actually _think_ without the fog walking in on his doorstep. It was that when he took down the walls the fog swarmed in and ate at him. Ate at him and pressured him and went after each vulnerability.

Emma, luckily, taught him a way to keep the fog from stealing what he learned which was the only reason he hadn't regressed after each lesson.

After the pain went away and Charles assured Erik, once again, that he was perfectly fine and peachy, he saw Emma give her little nod that he had done well.

"Excellent as always. I only wish Erik was as easy to teach when I taught him," she sighed and patted Erik's cheek fondly. Charles held back the flare of _something_ in him. "He was never an easy student. It took a lot of explanation to get it through his head. But you. You're a quick learner. I like that."

He was biting his tongue to keep from saying "like Erik?" and only didn't say it because there had been a knock at the library door to interrupt his rare lack of a filter.

Inside walked the same girl from the last Rebellion meeting, the one who had saved him from embarrassment. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail and she seemed to be looking for something (or someone) before landing on them and walking over. There was a forced casualness in her walk.

_Off. Something is off. Wrong._ Charles thought quietly, watching the poker face she kept on her face just barely.

_Something is wrong. Shouldn't that be a theme by now?_ Was added soon after as she stopped in front of them.

"We have heard from sources that they will be giving the drug tomorrow. The others want to hold an emergency meeting to talk about what to do."

Erik and Emma exchanged a look before Emma responded tersely, "We'll be right there in a few minutes. Just let me wrap this up."

"The others are already there. They sent me to go after the both of you. It might be best to get there quickly."

Erik looked at Charles hesitantly and Charles waved his hand, "It's fine. Go. You have a Rebellion to lead. I'll be here reading or testing what Emma taught me. Boring stuff."

He still didn't look like he wanted to leave, but, with a small push from Charles and a tug from Emma, he left.

The girl stayed behind and they stared at each other awkwardly for a moment, her hands rubbing the patch on her arm. It was white and was almost sewn onto the sleeve of her blouse, the Star of David stitched in black.

_Discrimination for beliefs_ Charles remembered sadly but he kept it to himself. She wouldn't want his pity. At least, he knew he wouldn't. So, aloud he said, "Are you not going to trail after them? You are part of the rebellion, too, correct?"

She shrugged. "I am but I'm not the leader or anyone important. I am just a lackey." She leaned against the bookshelf and crossed her arms. "But what about you? What did our leader do to get you on his side? Don't get me wrong!" She exclaimed quickly when Charles looked like he was about to retaliate. "I'm glad that you are friends with him, or whatever you two are. It mellows him out. He was absolutely unbearable before. Emma's last name is Frost but it should have been given to Erik really."

"But you," she continued with an odd twinkle in her eye. "You're different. Honestly, I didn't peg you to be the type to befriend stoic, perfectionist pricks, but whatever floats your boat, you know? I have a weird group of friends, too, so no judgment intended."

Charles chuckled and slowly got up from his spot on the floor, stretching the muscles that were protesting. Perhaps he should start bringing a chair over. The floor, chill, and his already aching bones were definitely not liking each other at all. "None taken, miss...?"

"Adalie. Adalie LeBeau." She held out a hand and he shook it firmly.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Adalie, but you don't need to be here to keep me company. You can leave. I am more than capable of keeping myself entertained."

Adalie rolled her eyes. "Emma told me to bring you. You know. Through this?" She tapped the side of her head. "You really have no say. You're a part of us now whether you like it or not."

"It doesn't seem like many like me at the moment," Charles pointed out, thinking back to a few faces he saw. Yes, some seemed to like him, but he didn't want to fall for it so quickly. He was weary and it was annoying because he hadn't been before.

"Oh no, they do. They all find you rather charming really. It's just that many of us kind of don't just walk up to people and start a conversation. You obviously seem the type to, but you are also foreign so it might just be second-nature to you from back home. I'm from Orleans, France so I'm more like you than them. I take it you are from… the United Kingdom of Great Britain?"

"Did the accent give it away?" Charles sighed dramatically. "Damn. I try to hide it so well."

"Oh shush. It's endearing if anything, but… yeah…" Adalie tilted her head and winced. "We really should get going. Apparently without you by his side, the meeting is going rather wrong. Emma is almost at her limits, and she's one of the few who can actually deal with him if you get me."

_Not really._ Charles thought partially while the other part wanted to ask exactly what Emma was to Erik. Lover? Friends? Some odd mixture in between? He supposed he didn't really have to know, but it might settle this stupid jealousy in him.

Perhaps he was too clingy. That would make sense.

But now wasn't the time to ponder these things. Charles didn't quite know _what_ his presence did to Erik, but if it would help his Rebellion, his dream in essence, then he would gladly go there to salvage what he can.

Charles reached the door within a few strides and held it open, "Lead the way."

….

Erik was certainly being a tyrant. He never thought he heard the boy yell so much German in his life, and he had been around him for almost three months now. Never had he sound so harsh and absolutely… the word was hard to find and that wasn't something Charles would admit readily. He always had a word for everything but Erik at this moment didn't seem to strike any of them in him.

Never had Erik rose his voice at Charles, but he was definitely doing so now and it was absolutely cringe-worthy.

Charles was partially (maybe selfishly) grateful he wasn't at the other end of the yelling. He didn't know if he would have taken it as quietly as the others seem to.

The question was: was this Lehnsherr or Erik?

"See what I mean?" Adalie whispered as she descended ahead of him, before announcing. "I have retrieved the guest of honor."

A red flush crept up Charles's neck as he descended soon after. _The guest of honor? I swear…_ But he kept his head high as he came into everyone's view. Everyone seemed to have stopped talking, even Erik and his angry yelling – though his mouth was still open as if mid-word. Half of the mutants looked like they would give one collective sigh of relief at him appearing, Emma being one of them.

Emma had her lips in a thin line and an angry glare in her eyes but it had cooled considerably once Charles appeared. He wondered to what extend Erik had gone through to make her so irritable. Just because he was a little off about her didn't mean he wished her any stress.

"Erik? Was it you I heard was torturing the poor souls down here?" Charles walked over to Erik and sighed. "You really need to get better at being a bit politer to others, darling. I think it's the main reason everyone is afraid to approach me." But he laughed so Erik knew he was merely joking with him.

_I was merely telling them that what they wish to do is incorrect, Häschen._

"And what is that, possibly? What are you talking about?" He turned to the group who seemed to be eying them with curiosity. "Excuse me for asking, but could you perhaps fill me in? I sadly wasn't here to listen and I'd hate to immediately be biased simply because he is my friend."

The entire group seemed surprised the second he said friend and Charles found himself looking to Emma and Adalie who seemed to be rolling their eyes. _What is this about, then? Is there some inside joke I am missing? He sighed. Another time. Not important right now, Charles._

Eventually, an older man in the back cleared his throat and spoke up. He had a shockingly bright amount of curly red hair and freckles that stood out. He seemed shy like he didn't want to speak, but at the same time determined to do so.

His voice was heavily accented with the same German undertone as Erik's but his words were put together. "Most of us want to act tomorrow before the drug is given. Don't know what it could do. Might take all abilities. Might cause more pain. We can't take the risk. We have to act immediately."

"And I suppose Erik doesn't see the point in that," Charles spoke slowly.

"It's more than that, darling." Emma sighed and stretched her fingers in front of her, diamonds flicking back and forth across her skin. "He is completely against it and can't see the sense in it at all. He is inconsolable."

"Is that so," Charles said as he met Erik's gaze, or tried to. He actually was glaring at the table now. "Well, he can be a bit stubborn sometimes. Perhaps if you explain it-"

"We have!" Exclaimed another boy, this one much younger than Charles. Perhaps ten or eleven at most. He seemed nervous under Erik's stare but it seemed Charles's presence gave him courage or something did. "We tried and he won't listen to us. He _never_ listens to us. He just criticizes all our plans and shoots them down! It's as if he is the main mind of the group rather than it being, you know, a group."

"A little bit of a dictatorship really," Adalie muttered under her breath.

Charles blinked. "Erik is probably the nicest guy I know." This earned him a few stares, even from Emma who didn't look as if anything could surprise her anymore. "I mean it. He's always been nice to me. Certainly, you are nice to them, right Erik?"

"Well…"

"Erik. Don't tell me you have been torturing these poor people," Charles gasped and then nudged Erik in the shoulder lightly. "Just listen to them. Listen to their reasoning. There has to be some logic in it. There always is. If, after you hear it, you don't like it, say why instead of just saying no."

Adalie was giving them a look now. A look that was amused. _The same inside joke again._

"Okay, Häschen," Erik conceded, standing from his chair and motioning for Charles to sit. Charles would have argued but it seemed like he was already pushing his limits on Erik's _Lehnsherr_ personality. He might as well humor him for the moment.

Once he was seated, Erik leaned against the chair and waved his hand. "Explain. Why do you want to rush this?"

The boy with the shocking red hair – _Albert_ Charles picked out of his head on accident – was, again, the first one to speak. "What I said earlier. We don't know what the drug will do. Could cause setback. We are already behind as is. It's best to act now to get rid of variable."

"And," the younger one added. "There are more guards. A lot more. Something is being planned and I don't like it. You said we can prepare over the year, but do we have that long? I don't think so. Not with the attempt. Not with what I've been sensing. Acting now is a safer bet. Much safer."

Erik was quiet as he heard this as well as the other individuals who spoke up, saying different wordings of this with other concerns. Charles listened dutifully, taking into account all their perspectives. He hoped Erik was doing the same.

When they all said their piece, Emma finally spoke up. "I have to say I side with Erik on this one. While a year may be a little ambitious and we might have to act sooner, rushing things might be _exactly_ what they want us to do. The mutant escape had been attempted a week ago from this meeting date. They know that we wish to escape. Are we really going to be stupid and run into their arms?"

Everyone was quiet as she continued. "Furthermore, we need a plan. Planning the night before is asking for a mistake to happen. Too little time and everyone is going to be running off hormones to get their plan across. If we give time, they will think we backed down and that is the prime moment we will strike at."

"And what of the drug?" Albert asked tentatively.

"What of it?" Emma replied nonchalantly with a delicate shrug. "We do not know what it will do. We have no clue what it won't do. Running off with our imagination is going to make it seem worse than it may be. We all have abilities that can help us and for those who are unable to protect against its effects, there are those of us who can definitely manipulate it." She averted her gaze until she was looking directly at Charles. He felt like she was talking about him primarily. "I have been practicing with Charles for the past week and between him and me, we can build a mental wall to keep the drug from affecting all of you."

Erik didn't seem pleased with the idea, but Charles knew he wouldn't be. He didn't like putting Charles in danger. Even Lehnsherr didn't, as if it was the one thing they could agree on.

_Hush now, my friend. I don't mind. Not at all. If it will help them, I am more than willing to offer my assistance. You know this._

_And who's going to protect you, Charles?_ Erik challenged and Charles couldn't find an answer that would make him happy so he kept quiet and looked at Emma and the rest of the Rebellion.

"Which of them will need it primarily?"

Emma counted off her fingers. "Adalie should be fine with her adaptability, but Albert will definitely need some protection. Stephan, the kid over there, should be fine but we will have to cover him just in case." Gradually, she listed off all of the attendees at the meeting. If Charles counted correctly, only 7 would need it for certain, but Charles didn't want to take any risks. He would protect all of them.

Clapping his hands together, he rubbed and squeezed them together before smiling at the group ahead of him, ignoring the stiff looming presence behind him.

"When will we begin?"

…

Throughout the day, Charles and Emma both worked on the Rebellion, building walls around their abilities to the best of their capability. Adalie, Albert, and the other boy, Stephan, came over to Charles almost immediately when they were given the choice. It humored Charles. Maybe Adalie was right then about them liking him.

The process was simple. Charles would, after given permission, enter the occupant's mind and find the source of their ability in their mind. Each person had one, no matter if their mutation was physical or mental or other. They all had a control center in the brain to allow it to fester – Charles realized this. All he had to do was find this control center, which could be a memory, thought, or just a simple image, and he would build the same walls that Emma had taught him just that day. He had confidence in his abilities, but he still double and triple-checked before leaving their minds.

Erik watched from the background, arms folded and a certain look on his face. It was the _Lehnsherr_ look again. That hard, almost unreadable, look that gave off a vibe of darkness. It was unsettling. There was something off here but Charles couldn't quite place it. There was something just wrong with this part of Erik, but why was he separated into parts to begin with? Nothing was making sense.

The Erik the others knew was a dictator, a tyrant who seemed keen on giving all the orders if he could. He rarely listened unless it actually suited his goal and he was overall a highly disagreeable person.

But the Erik he knew was nice and kind and laughed with him, teased him, and smiled so often it was almost _normal_. He was the Erik he saw hug his mum if she caught them before they walked out of the living quarters or the one who would make small metal dolls for the children. That was the Erik he knew.

There was something he was missing. Something Charles was missing but he couldn't focus on it now.

His fingers were lightly touching Adalie's temples as he finished off her walls. Even though Emma said she wouldn't need it, Charles wanted to be absolutely sure. It would make him rest easy knowing his friend (could he call her that?) was safe.

Once everyone was protected and safe, it was close to evening and everyone was filtering out. There was still the general feeling of unease throughout the lot, but it was a little settled. A little bit relieved. After Emma and Adalie exchanged their goodbyes to Erik and Charles respectively, they walked out and Erik and Charles were alone.

Charles motioned for Erik to sit in a chair. "Sit."

Of course, he forgot he was talking to _Lehnsherr_ and not Erik. Lehnsherr didn't take orders without a good enough reason.

"I need to protect your mind too," Charles explained when Erik gave him a reproachful glance, once again pointing at the chair.

After a second of hesitation, Erik sat down and Charles walked up to him, placing his fingers on either side of Erik's temples. It was so easy to do this, to have them find their right place and let them rest with little feather-touches. As second-nature as his personality if you will.

He rather liked it. A lot if he were to be honest.

It took a moment to wait for Erik to pull down his shield, for Lehnsherr to drift off, and Charles finally set to work, building a wall around where the fog rested in Erik's mind. It was larger here. More prominent. But Charles didn't know how much of it was fog and how much was darkness. It was hard to tell when it was all the same.

As he was working on protecting his friend, Charles decided to ask.

"I sense darkness in you, my friend. Care to explain what it is doing there?"

Erik was quiet for a long time. Too long to be his normal hesitance. This was on purpose. He was ignoring the question.

Charles thinned his lips as he continued on the wall. _Well, isn't this telling?_

"You know you can tell me. I was just concerned is all. I don't know what it is doing there, and I am afraid it might fester and become worse. Something I can't be there for."

"It's nothing, Häschen. Nothing for you to worry about."

Charles scoffed. "You are my friend. It is _everything_ for me to worry about. Don't brush it aside as if it is nothing because it certainly doesn't seem like it to me."

"You've only had your powers for little over a week, Charles. What could you know about it?"

Was that Erik or was it Lehnsherr? It sounded like his friend Erik but the coldness didn't belong there. The bitterness that seemed to grate on Charles as he said those words. Erik wasn't one to say those things to him. He never said those things to him. He was patient and explained things to him. He was different.

"Clearly not enough or I would have helped you by now," Charles muttered and Erik laughed humorlessly as if finding his wish to aid his friend absolutely childish.

"I'm not someone you can fix, Charles."

_I can fix? Where had that come from? I never said I wanted to_ save _you. Just that I wanted to help you overcome this. There_ is _a difference!_

But he didn't say this because it would end up being an argument in that wording. Instead, he went for questioning. It was safer if not more infuriating.

"What has gotten into you, my friend? Is there something wrong? Something I am not aware of?"

"Everything, Charles. Everything." And that was the only answer he got as he finished the protection for his friend.

After he finished, Charles didn't wait for Erik and Erik didn't call out for Charles as he stormed back to the living quarters where his mum was already eating her rations. For the sake of his mum, he decided to push the anger away. Hide it. She needn't worry about him. Not when she had somehow gotten better on her own, something he was still heavily confused about.

Of course, she noticed immediately when Erik wasn't with him.

"Where's Erik? Usually, you two are inseparable."

Charles gave off a laugh, hoping it sounded believable. "Oh, you know. Chores and what not. His mum needed him to go grab a few things from one of the other buildings. He'll come in soon."

His mum gave him a look but he didn't give anything away and merely ate happily, mentioning how nice the sunset was, as was their usual routine. If she was ever suspicious of his behavior, she never hinted at it or asked.

While he ate, however, Charles couldn't help but think about what Erik had said before.

_"Everything, Charles. Everything."_

What was he missing? Something important obviously but what?

Mentioning the darkness was a touchy subject, but the fact that Erik immediately got defensive – correction: that _Lehnsherr_ got protective of it – proved that he was aware of it. Aware of it and chose to do nothing about it. Why? It wasn't healthy, what was in him. It was toxic and it would continue to eat at him, but he absolutely refused to get rid of it.

There must be a reason. A reason that Charles hadn't or couldn't consider.

A part of him cursed his morals briefly for keeping his abilities at bay. If he wasn't so keen on privacy, he might have figured it out by now, but would he still have a friend in Erik? Probably not.

This was different than their argument on trust. This was so much worse than that. This wasn't just lack of trust, this was a lack of connection, of seeing eye to eye as Erik and he always had.

There were too many contradictions and difficulties to this puzzle. Too many that it was almost similar to a game of chess than any simple thought process. A long, lengthy game of chess where the king rested on the other side, protected by his dark queen – the dark thoughts – who didn't appear to want to give up easily.

And then there was Charles on the opposite side, watching wearily as they slowly inched forward. A piece for a piece. Eventually, it would be just him and Erik, even their queens disposed of.

Charles Xavier wasn't one to be scared or even anxious on his best of days, but he felt a certain foreboding, cold and thick, settle in the pit of his stomach when he wondered who would win and how it would affect them.

…..

_"Ridicule is generally made use of to laugh men out of virtue and good sense, by attacking everything praiseworthy in human life." **– Joseph Addison**_

…

_The Daily Herald_

_April 7, 1941_

_**U.S Aid On Way Already?** _

_American help for Jugoslavia is believed to be already on the way._

_Mr. Cordell Hull, United States Secretary of State, announced yesterday that the Government is "proceeding as speedily as possible to send military and other supplies."_

_A State Department official in Washington said supplies would be shipped in conjunction with those for Greece._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! So! Going to say this now because it may forewarn you guys later haha... but I am absolutely dying in having these dorks not being at least remotely infatuated with each other. I mean, Charles is cute and oblivious and never really fell in love with anyone so he's not quite sure what it is like. Erik is aware of it and knows of it but he won't act on it yet. So. Because of the last chapter's incidents, Charles may actually... begin to having feelings? At least those he doesn't understand but is aware of.
> 
> Close enough. It will appease me for now.
> 
> Have a nice day. ^^


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All he registered was pain.
> 
> Complete and absolute pain.
> 
> Like he was sliced with a battalion of swords, daggers, and small knives before being placed in lemon juice repeatedly. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. Repeatedly with no sense of stopping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _A/N: I feel so awful for being practically a **month** late on updating my goodness. December was a hectic month for me haha. I had to finish a painting for my mum's Christmas gift, go through early finals, house sit for a friend for a week without my freaking laptop (like the idiot I am). As it was, I didn't even have my laptop when I went to my mum's house for Christmas but I was so determined to finish the chapters that I wrote the last 6000 words (I split the original 12000 word chapter into two 6000 word chapters haha) on my phone in the span of two days._
> 
> _I had my birthday too! So I'm officially 19 now. Yay... Got A's in all my college classes which is a relief and even was a ring bearer for my best friend's wedding that was 3 days ago. Today is literally the first day I have had to myself! It feels nice just spending nearly 6 hours editing a chapter._
> 
> _Even if I'm not happy with them._
> 
> _I'm sorry guys. These aren't that good but I have been working on the actual Rebellion chapter and hopefully that one will make up for these two._
> 
> _I do have a question but I will post it at the end of the chapter because this author's note is getting a bit long haha._
> 
> _Enjoy the chapter :)_

Chapter 10

_"I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain." **– Frank Herbert, Dune**_

…..

"What made you return, mum?" Charles asked as they and twenty other people, Erik not included in this group, were led to the building with no knob or handle on its lone door. His hands were shaky and his breath wispy but not from fear.

Or, at least, it wouldn't be fear for _himself._

He feared for the others. For Albert and Adalie, for Emma and Stephan, and, even though he acted like a complete prat with more than a few choice adjectives, Erik as well. Would his protection work? Would Emma's as well? He had no doubt that hers would work since she seemed far more adept at what she was doing, but what about him? He only just realized what his abilities were when he arrived here and even then he only used them for a two weeks max!

And maybe he was lying when he said he didn't have doubts on Emma. It could have been how odd she has been acting or how she just didn't sit with Charles no matter how optimistic he tried to be, but his confidence in her was at maybe 85 percent.

Would it be enough? Emma said he was stronger than her, but what did that equate to? He didn't dare say it, but what if she was weak and both of their efforts were futile?

He had to stop thinking like this. He had to or it would eat him alive, so that was why he decided to ask his mum how she returned to him – and so… different, in a good way, at that.

His mum was in front of him and had been near silent on their walk, but now she spoke with a quiet murmur. "I don't quite know how to explain it. Think of it as a boat tied to a dock through a rope, but you are still a maybe a kilometer away. I had been nowhere and everywhere then. Grieving for your father, wondering what to do with you, wondering if I had what it takes to be a mother when I have been far from such." She got quiet when a soldier passed by them, waiting until he was out of hearing distance before she continued, softer. "Slowly I had been inching forward. Slowly that rope was pulling me back to the docks."

"You were gone so long. I was afraid I had lost you," Charles admitted, clenching his hands together when someone behind him was nudged by the soldier and chafed his ankles with their shoes.

"And I dearly apologize for that. I… It never crossed my mind honestly. Cruel to say, perhaps, but honest nevertheless."

Charles didn't blame his mum. He probably could have and he would have every right to. She wouldn't have placed him at any fault.

But he couldn't. Not when she came back to him. She could have left him alone, and he would have taken care of her as long as he could. Like he had said long ago, he couldn't hold a grudge. He truly couldn't. Especially to his own mother who had remained absent for 15 years of his life and absolutely left him for another 2 weeks. She had a reason. She was mourning and panicking.

He could forgive her and he did. After all, he had gone through the same thing. Granted he didn't slip into an immovable state, he and she were completely different people.

Different ways to cope.

She isolated herself and put herself back together with no influence. He was forced to move forward with the actions of his friend.

But that wasn't completely true either, was it? After all, it was the fact that he had taken to a fever in response to his mutation that she was pulled back.

"When I was sick, you came back quickly. It doesn't make sense to me. Why?"

She didn't speak for a few minutes, the people in front of them moving up one by one into the building. He knew it was relatively small, the building with a door not meant to be opened. He tried to peer around it, to figure out where they stuck them afterward (because there was no way they could all fit in there comfortably), but he couldn't see very far with the soldiers keeping them in a single-file line with very little detour.

His attention was brought back to his mother when she began to answer his question. "At first I was confused. To the woman on the boat, you were just a boy who took care of me. But when you were sick, unconscious and feverish beside me, something in my mind snapped, and I realized who you were… and that you were my last. My last everything. I may be a cold woman, Charles, but I am not frozen. I may not have been a mother, but that doesn't mean I don't have maternal instincts. My instincts brought me back in one pull. You brought me back."

He sensed a smile in her voice as she said the last sentence and a part of him beamed at the fact that he had helped his mum for once.

As his awful luck would have it, that was when they directed his mother and him into the room. He felt yet another pinprick of pain on his neck and then nothing. In the back of his head, he couldn't help but think _"Here we go again"_ before the darkness consumed him.

…..

All he registered was the pain.

Complete and absolute pain.

Like he was sliced with a battalion of swords, daggers, and small knives before being placed in lemon juice repeatedly. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. Repeatedly with no sense of stopping.

Charles didn't know if he was making a sound. He didn't know if he could when his throat was too parched and sore from the initial screaming in his mind that may have been vocalized.

He couldn't hear anything anymore. Not right now. Not when he was once again under the burning acid of pain where the only accompanying sign of him being alive was his heartbeat that was far too loud and far too fast, and his mind which had long since curled in upon itself and defend what was left.

And the pain continued. Pursued. Pressured on.

Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth.

…..

_"When we least expect it, life sets us a challenge to test our courage and willingness to change; at such a moment, there is no point in pretending that nothing has happened or in saying that we are not yet ready. The challenge will not wait. Life does not look back. A week is more than enough time for us to decide whether or not to accept our destiny." **– Paulo Coelho, The Devil and Miss Prym**_

….

He wished the pain stopped there, but it didn't cease with just the torture of a lifetime. No, it pressured on with a new eagerness the old dose lacked.

Thinking was almost unbearable.

Thinking. Imagining. Focusing. Anything with the head. It hurt and pressed into the crevices of his skull as if hoping to find that one crack that will ruin him, end him, throw out his existence. This was the pain of his mind, something that was beginning to grow and had seemingly regressed without a fight.

He's been awake for a few days now. Awake, moving, something like that. He thought he heard his mum next to him but he couldn't focus on her words. Only that she said "Happy Birthday, Charles," in a way that made her sound close to crying. Which was funny, wasn't it? His mother didn't cry. She never cried. She was stoic, calm, and kept a countenance that many men and women alike would be envious of.

But his mum would, wouldn't she? He wouldn't know. He hadn't known his mum long – a week at most compared to the 15-year long trek with his mother.

He should know this. This was stupid to him. He was a Xavier so he shouldn't be questioning his thoughts – his father surely didn't.

There was a method, though. He had to bide his time and wait.

It was silly to focus on her. Focusing hurt and at this moment he was only trying to minimize the hurt, minimize the pain until he could find a loophole as he did before. Eating. Sleeping. Small tasks like that. He could do those. They required no thought to do.

Conversation ruined him. People walking up to him and saying words he was too tired and sore to find the definitions of. He would like to focus on them, but that would make his head split into a cavern meant to swallow him whole. So he just eyed the area to the left of their faces, this small crack across the living quarters that hadn't grown or shrunk since he started to look at it. It was just there. Nothing new and therefore nothing to focus on.

In any other circumstance, he might have laughed at the idea that he would find solace in a crack in a wall.

It was still funny but not why he had to focus on it.

Hands brushed him. Hair, face, shoulder, hand: all of these were touched with equal measure and with a feeling of guilt and concern. The guilt he got from those who looked like they knew him more than he could risk to recognize them. A girl with a brown ponytail. A boy with shocking orange hair. Another boy who… he wasn't sure about him.

Definitely important to him. No doubt about that. Important. Someone he knew. Someone he should know with how much he knew him. He recognized his mum for God's sake so he should recognize this person as well!

But he couldn't. Because it required to focus and to think, both he wasn't risking to do in case further damage came to his person.

The new drug aimed to put him in his place.

For the time, he couldn't help but think they had hit their mark.

At least, until he found a way to break it.

And he would.

…..

_"Nothing is so painful to the human mind as a great and sudden change." **– Mary Shelley, Frankenstein**_

…..

_He_ was persistent, Charles had to admit.

This _he_ being the boy who liked to be close to him. Today he was here again. Sitting next to Charles and playing with something that might have perked his curiosity had Charles not been focused on the same, unchanging crack. He only knew the boy must have been playing with _something_ because of how his shoulder occasionally brushed Charles's.

They were close then. Really close.

And not just physically. Emotionally. Psychologically. They were close. They knew each other well, like pages in a worn out book read forward and backward to the point that they knew the words by heart – each imperfection and mistake. They _knew_ each other and for some reason, Charles felt something more for the boy. Something that made sparse anger appear in his mind – _pain, ow, pain. Stop. Thinking. Stop stop stop stop_ – and a warm feeling coast over his heart like a welcoming summer breeze.

He knew this boy. He liked this boy. Brother? No. Not like that though it could be seen like that. Friend? Certainly. This boy was his friend and the closest Charles has ever made. He was his best friend. A person he met by coincidence and pursued by sheer stubborn ambition.

But there was something else there. Something he couldn't name. Something he couldn't follow for he never knew the word, the feeling, the potential of the emotion.

What _was_ it?

What was _he_?

What was this boy to Charles that was better than a friend?

The pain came back, but this one was worse.

It took a second for Charles to realize it was the pain of not knowing who this boy was to him, or who he was in general. He wanted to know. He wanted to know so badly that it was killing him not knowing. His mind screamed, half in pain and half exclamation, _"He is important to you!"_ but he couldn't remember his own name for whatever reason!

He never so badly wanted to find a mistake in something until this very moment when he felt like he was stranded from the one person who stuck to him more than his _own mum._

And the boy was unaware of this. He murmured things. Murmured words and phrases and a variety of things between German and English. His hand kept lifting and falling from his metalwork, wanting to reach out to Charles and then falling short. Uncertainty.

These days were the most painful for Charles and he faced them a plenty. Plenty of times for the longest time. The only moment of peace was when his eyes were so heavy that he fell into a restless exhaustion only to remain awake for another few days.

Around him, the world moved. Within him, it remained stationary. A contradiction like everything else he has known. Having memories but being locked from them and, thus, blinded from everything like he usually was.

….

He found the loophole out of sheer, complete luck.

Actually, it wasn't quite "luck" really. It was more like… a switch had been pulled. A light switch to a lamp, for instance. Pulling the chain and _pop!_ Something changed immediately and Charles still didn't know how it really came about.

Which is silly and weird because if it was as easy as a switch, why didn't he find it earlier? Or why couldn't he use it earlier? It just didn't make sense. None of it did.

The day wasn't even any different than the last few days.

The boy was talking to him. Talking to him and talking to him and he wouldn't cease talking to him. Charles wasn't really focusing on what he was saying anymore. The last time he came over Charles attempted to listen to his words, but the pain overrode his decision quickly. So he just left it in a pile of rubbish rambling he couldn't translate at the moment.

At least it didn't hurt as much as the fact that it probably _was_ important and there was little Charles could do about it.

He was saying something, though. It pulled at his heart. He thought the boy may have been talking to his mum (a woman he has seen several times more frequently than _his_ mum), but it was silly to think so. Night cascaded and dark had consumed everyone into a slumber so delicate that the meager light of the sun could wake them once again.

But this boy didn't fall to the same spell nor did Charles. He was wide awake after sleeping most of the morning and afternoon.

Every so often, the boy's voice would drift and slur into silence before starting once again out of nowhere. He was tired. Charles knew this. He sounded tired.

Why didn't he sleep?

Of course, he couldn't ask that. Couldn't do anything quite frankly.

Charles was getting increasingly frustrated by this, though. Frustrated and annoyed. He should be able to control his own body! It was _his_ for a reason after all. Not some scientist twat who decided to play God with chemicals! Charles was in charge of the pain he felt and what he was allowed to think.

This was his body. His to control and this drug was a foreign invader that needed to be destroyed. Out of his system like a bad case of the flu. It had no right to be here, to control him to the point that his memories of people were completely hidden to him. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right. It wasn't even _normal._

He didn't know where it came from, whether it was the boy, his circumstance, or the fact that he turned 16 literally last week, _and he couldn't even celebrate it_ but something in him just… clicked.

Just like that. _Click._

Without any rhyme or reason whatsoever.

Suddenly, there was a loophole. A small one, but that was all he needed. All his mind needed actually.

The mutation in him charged and took the edges of the loophole in their control and pulled it apart by sheer will power. The same power that Emma taught him to manifest should he ever need it. Within seconds it had broken away and his memories came back with dizzying speed.

Rebooting his mind, his abilities, took a long time, but it was so much better than before. The pain was dimming, but Charles wasn't naïve to think it would go all the way. No, the fog was still there after all just in a small confined corner. The pain will follow it, too. But, this was much better than being an immobile, _catatonic thing_. He wouldn't even complain!

Being in pain and moving versus being in pain and not? It was a no brainer what Charles would choose.

When he blinked, it felt like the sun had shined on him because he could focus on the action without his head killing him. He could move his eyes, look at people, focus on them. God, it was bloody glorious!

It was night time still, as most of his comings came at, so he couldn't see much really except for his mother who was curled up on the cot, sleeping with a furrowed brow and tense eyes. She wasn't at peace. Why would she be when he had been like this for God knows how long? Goodness, how much pain did he put her through? Put everyone through? All the unnecessary worry! All the stupid, idiotic things Charles could have done and yet it didn't hit him till now. He could have saved them from all of this. He could have prevented it, surely!

But that was silly. How was he to know? The first few days were shock. The following being curiosity and minor testing of his limits, and then lastly what he was going through now. It came in phases. He couldn't rush something that wasn't supposed to be rushed.

When his hearing came back, he could hear his friend's voice clearly.

It sounded like… it sounded like…

Well, he couldn't place it really. Was it cheesy to say it sounded almost like _home?_ Maybe. It sure made him feel silly thinking it. But after all of these cursed days of going through his head, his motives, his thoughts and emotions on his friend – on _Erik_ – he found home being the closest word. Even if his friend, if Lehnsherr, had been a discouraging prat who needed a stern talking to. He could forgive that. He could. Because this? This made up for it by a ten-fold.

He was so in tune with his friend that he couldn't find it in him to interrupt him.

"…This was stupid. This was so stupid. I was stupid. I should have stopped you. I should have completely disregarded you." _Had his English gotten better? How so? My mum perhaps?_ "Of course you would make sure everyone else was safe instead of yourself. What a fool was I to think otherwise? You self-sacrificing, good-hearted idiot. You should have said something. You should have declined. We could have thought of another way that didn't risk hurting your precious, irreplaceable, fascinating mind."

_Precious? Irreplaceable? Fascinating?_ Charles was stumped as he heard his friend say this. So stumped that it took him a second longer to realize that his friend wasn't, in fact, speaking English. No, he was speaking German, and for the first time since he arrived here, _Charles was able to understand it._

_Might just be luck. Surely the fog didn't relent so easily. It may strike when it can._ Charles reasoned but he couldn't help but feel giddy over this fact. He could speak it now! He could speak the language he understood so well and yet didn't for the past 2 weeks. He remembered all the languages he had been taught. French. Spanish. Christ, even the torture that came with learning _Mandarin._ He remembered all of it, and it felt so good.

But he still didn't interrupt Erik being too happy with this discovery.

"Why didn't you just say something? Why didn't you just… why didn't I… I don't know. I shouldn't have said those things to you, but, damn it, Charles you should have been careful with your words. I wasn't myself. I wasn't _me._ " He took a deep breath and it came out in stutters. For some reason, Charles got the idea that this wasn't the first time Erik had repeated this rant to him. This was, however, the first time that Charles was hearing it and would be able to counter it. "You should have known that. Something should have clicked. And maybe it had, but you still didn't do anything. No, you taunted me. That was your mistake, Charles."

Then an angry huff. "What am I doing? I'm once again placing the blame on him. I said I was going to get better at this for if, when, he comes back I can be prepared for this. Prepared for whatever anger he may have. Damn it."

Charles slid his eyes over to his friend. His knees were brought up and his arms were folded across them, pillowing his face. He hadn't noticed Charles's attention was on him now. He didn't notice how Charles's head had turned – and oh the aches were not something he missed – to look at him closer.

"I'm sorry, Charles. I don't… like apologizing. I hate it, actually. It means I am wrong. I am too prideful to admit that, you would be the first to point that out, wouldn't you? What is a Lehnsherr without his pride?" A tired chuckle. "You are so amazing, Charles. So amazing that it's hard to believe that you are merely a boy. Younger than me by… almost two years. You could beat any scientist, outwit any debate, and charm your way to anyone's heart. And sixteen! You could say it's your ability, but, really, who am I kidding? You were already a genius before that was involved. It just heightened it, made it… just amazing."

And you're so _different._ So different from anyone I've ever met. You've seen them. Dead faces. Stricken. Pale. Lifeless. But you… you're not any of these. No, you are far from these. You are lively, happy, and so bright that you could make up for the sun. Perhaps that's why I like you so much. Perhaps that's why I feel so guilty – because I am _not_ one to feel guilty, Charles. At all."

This part felt new. It felt different. Charles didn't have much recollection of the past one-sided conversations Erik had with himself, but this one was off. It was different. He didn't know if it was good or bad but remained silent in fear that he may never find out.

"It's… quite the miracle that you are as oblivious as you are. Oblivious, naïve, and blind to the way you leave me. _From the second I saw you in this place…_ it's ridiculous. Perhaps that was another reason I avoided you. It was ridiculous. But you're too good-natured, too kind and thoughtful and way too damn forgiving for my liking to notice my emotions. It is more than likely for the best that you never know."

And at this point, Charles was almost dying to know these emotions. _This._ He knew _this_ emotion because it had the same mental feel as what was in his heart, and he wanted to figure it out so desperately. To know what it was and deal with it because apparently his friend had them, too, and was thinking it best neither of them knew it.

Which was preposterous and stupid.

Charles found he couldn't be silent any longer. It was a miracle he had been for so long as it was!

"I would like to know, my friend."

Erik didn't start like Charles thought he might. Instead, he completely stilled before raising his head slowly, meeting Charles's open eyes with a weariness. Why? Shouldn't he be happy? Or was Charles maybe being a little bit too hopeful?

He just stared at him for the longest time, giving him a once over before lifting both of his hands to Charles's cheeks. He seemed hesitant like he couldn't believe it.

_What is he thinking?_ Charles thought but refused to peer into his mind. He hadn't gone into anyone's minds so far and he wasn't going to delve now. Erik wouldn't like it that much right now probably.

"I must be dreaming. You are not awake and you certainly don't know German even if you were awake. Not at the moment. Perhaps I should get some rest."

Charles shook his head in Erik's hands, raising his own to rest on his wrists. "This isn't a dream. I'm awake, well, more accurately I'm able to use my mind again, but that's beside the point. I'm just really happy to be able to talk again, you know? I am back and I intend to stay here. No more going places. I found a loophole, and I am back." He offered a shy grin at his friend who still seemed so unsure. How?

"Even my delusions of you are a rambling mess."

_Oi!_ Charles wanted to shout but refrained just barely. His friend wasn't teasing him. If anything he just seemed… bland really.

Pursing his lips, he sighed. Bloody hell. There was no harm in trying it certainly. It wouldn't kill him. Or maybe it would?

But who could possibly be allergic to hugs?

_Should I say something? Something like "I'm going to hug you now. Don't flail or push me out of a window please"?_

As he shook off Erik's hands, he looked at Erik. _Really_ looked at him.

He was tired. Exhausted. Maybe a word that was even more intense than that. He at least… looked like he had eaten thank god. He looked drained, however, like he was part of a war that he had been fighting for a long time.

He wasn't going to ask. In his opinion, Erik didn't have a voice on this matter.

Turning completely to Erik, he waited for Erik to do the same before wrapping his arms around his neck and hugging him.

And it was a good hug. A very much needed hug. Something that Charles wanted and maybe something that Erik needed he hoped. He put as much heart into it as he could to convey to his friend that he was indeed here. It took a bit, too long he wanted to say, but he found the loophole he was waiting for and all he needed was to prove to Erik that he was definitely back.

For the longest moment, Erik was completely still. He was a statue. He didn't move, and it was like Charles was hugging marble that had been chiseled masterfully. He didn't move, though. He refused to. He had been wanting to do this for at least a week or two now, and he would be damned if he gave up just because his stoic friend seemed to not process it.

Slowly, Erik's hands rose and hugged Charles's waist. At first, it was loose, like he was afraid to break him, before tightening until Charles almost had to struggle for a little bit of breath. Erik's head landed on his shoulder, and Charles merely patted his back as he said nothing. The way his friend's hands clenched onto his shirt said everything.

"It's-"

"Charles so help me. If you say "fine" I will personally strangle you. You and that word should not be together in any form because it will always be false."

Charles humphed to himself before changing his words. "Okay. Then everything is okay. I'm back. Still a little irked about your actions, but…" Charles pursed his lips and changed the patting to rubbing Erik's back. Up and down. "Perhaps I asked for it. Maybe. I still worry, though. I will always worry, Erik."

"Even when you shouldn't."

"Especially when I shouldn't."

Erik was quiet and then he removed himself from the hug. Charles would be a liar if he said he didn't feel a little disappointed that it was so brief, but he couldn't complain.

When Erik stood, the disappointment settled. Charles was wide awake. What would he do?

Clearly, Erik would go to his cot and rest – for he looked like he was absolutely dead on his feet – but where would Charles's go? Perhaps resting earlier was not in his best interests.

Of course, he wouldn't ask Erik to stay with him. The boy was clearly tired! He deserved all the sleep he could get. If he left, Charles would bid him farewell and figure something out. Perhaps he could sneak to the library? He hadn't had the time to actually leaf through everything, and his fingers ached for parchment and paper and just words.

With all these plans running around his head like race horses galloping away, he hardly noticed the hand extended to him.

Charles blinked. "Yes?"

A roll of the eyes. "Are you coming?"

He didn't hesitate to grab the hand that lifted him up with ease. "Depends on where we are going."

"It seems you forgot how loud your thoughts can project. We are going to the library."

Charles felt his eyes beam but he hesitated. "But clearly you are utterly exhausted. You look like you may pass out walking, and I am not going to catch you, my friend. I fear I may fall with you then."

Erik sent him a glare. "I don't need you to catch me, Charles. I'm just a little fatigued, but it is nothing I haven't felt before. Let's go. I don't like being here. I have been far too much already as it is."

Charles didn't question him and trailed after him until they once again reached the library. Erik walked back to their usual spot and sat down with a loud thump. Charles scrolled through all the parchment and happily picked up a few. They were in German, of course, but he could understand it now so reading it shouldn't be a problem.

Happy with three, he walked back to where Erik sat and paused before following his example.

Erik's eyes were closed. He didn't know if he was sleeping, but if he had to go by the low thrum in his thoughts, Charles would guess so. People never truly stopped thinking except when they slept – in which all their thoughts are silent with small blips of images from their dreams. There were no dreams in Erik's head nor any words that might have been clear indicators. His friend was asleep, and Charles didn't want to sit down in fear that he would wake him up.

So, sitting across from him, he leaned against one of the shelves and began to read, the quiet comfort of the library, and his sleeping friend being all he needed to dip into the stories written by those he hardly knew.

…..

He finished all of them quickly. Well, it felt quick to him anyways, but he didn't have a clock. One second he was beginning the first paragraph of one of the worn pamphlets, and the next he was finishing the last word on one of the actual bound books in this place.

Closing them with a happy sigh, Charles tilted his neck to revive the muscles that had were definitely not pleased with his craned stature over the books. His fingers also protested as he stretched them out.

It was okay. It was worth it. The stories were absolutely fascinating. One he had picked was about an inmate here who seemed to not be here anymore, but how he described his emotions, his family, and his goals – they felt like something Charles had felt in his heart. Something that he had lived through.

The second was a book just on genetics. As it happened, a Polish geneticist was Jewish and placed in this place. He brought all of his research and books that he could hide and retrieve without difficulty. Anything he couldn't bring, he copied into multiple books. Charles only had one of them, but he wanted to read the rest. How he described it, the genes and their code, it made him wonder about the X-gene he had pondered a while ago.

The last one… it was odd. A bit weird, actually. _It wasn't one he would read again,_ he thought to himself rubbing the pages and their stained paper.

It was from a boy. Definitely a boy. He didn't seem to have the same… maturity as an adult. Or maybe he did? Charles didn't know him, and he never would if the fate of the young man was anything to go by.

He was taken here not for his Jewish beliefs but because of his… sexual orientation. This baffled and confused Charles immensely. Being dragged here because of religion was bad enough, but also for the type of people you love? That… perhaps Charles was naïve, but he found even less sense in that.

He never cared for that, who people happened to love. Everyone had a right to be happy, and if they found happiness loving someone who was the same gender as them, or different, or whatever, then it hardly mattered what others had to say on the matter. Happiness should be the sole purpose. It should be the cure to this… defamation.

But maybe Charles was ahead of his time on that thought process.

Anyhow, this boy was taken here alone. His family apparently giving him up out of sheer disgust when they found out. He was given up on. Sent here alone with the boy he had happened to love.

It was… terrible what he read. To read what had happened to the boy here. He wasn't in the same portion of the Warsaw ghetto as he was, farther north it seemed, but his story was placed here in this library.

This boy, who had not given his name, had been abused verbally and physically for who he was. Both prisoners and soldiers alike. It was absolutely repulsive reading what he had to go through. Stoned. Kicked. Threatened of castration. It was like reading a horror tale.

But he dealt with it in equal measure because he still had his fancy, the one he found dear even then. It was…

Charles had no words. He didn't know how to feel about this. A part of it rang out with him and a part of it left him absolutely confounded.

He still read the book, of course, but he needed a break before he could delve into another. A moment to think of exactly what he read.

When he looked up, he saw that Erik was still sleeping. His head was cocked to the side, laying awkwardly on his neck in a way that might leave him a kink when he woke up. His brows were relaxed and didn't hold the same stressed furrow that came from being here. His mouth wasn't in a thin line and was even slightly open to allow a slow and even rush of air between his teeth. He was far more relaxed than Charles had ever seen him.

Would Charles be able to withstand the same treatment if it were just Erik and him? Of course, clearly he and Erik were not together, but he still couldn't help but ponder it and then think it silly.

The answer was obvious.

Of course, he would. He would do anything and be fine with it as long as his friend was by his side.

There was a little jump in his heart when he thought _friend._ Small but still there. The emotions he didn't understand. The same emotions when he called Erik _"home."_

The ring felt almost like it was burning against his fingers, wanting him to notice it.

Charles placed the book to the side of him and was about to turn to look through the shelves nearby when he heard a few trail thoughts reach out. Well, it was more like a bleeding effect. Some people's dreams and sparse thoughts just came to Charles.

But what Erik's thoughts said were enough to stop Charles as his fingers brushed the spine of a book.

_Don't go, Charles. Stay. Please. I'm sorry._

What dream could his friend be having? He was here. Of course, he was here. He would always be here. Erik was silly to think otherwise. He would have to brainwash the boy to make him stay away at this point! And, unless Charles was mistaken, Erik wasn't the one with mental abilities.

Crawling over to Erik's side, he hoped that being closer to his friend would cease his thoughts.

_I didn't mean those words. Please don't give me that look, Häschen._

There was darkness in these thoughts. The same darkness that Charles feared. The darkness he didn't understand.

But he didn't know what to do! He could send happy thoughts to Erik's mind, but he had never done so and he didn't want to experiment on Erik when he was sleeping! That was beyond rude. It was absolutely inane!

Charles chewed his lip before reaching out and holding Erik's hand. His arms were cross across his chest so it was a little awkward, but Charles made it work, grasping at his friend's fingers and interlocking them. A secure line. Something that might make him realize that Charles wasn't going anywhere.

Hesitating, he closed his eyes and focused as he sent a few thoughts of his own.

_Still here, my friend. Don't listen to the other me or whoever is telling you otherwise. You know they are not me. I'm me. Charles Xavier. The boy with the precious, fascinating mind you can't seem to let go. Don't believe my imperfect copies so easily, darling._

Erik seemed to relax considerably with just those words, and Charles heard no more from his friend, the darkness also dissipating.

Charles wasn't a fool, though. He knew that it was still there. Festering. Waiting. It was watching and was going to continue to watch until the very moment it would act. Charles feared that day. Feared the day that Erik might have to face this. He hoped he could solve it, but he didn't need a repeat of what happened last time he tried to confront it.

It was just _there._ A dark, looming presence that spelled disaster if it was given full reign. Like Erik would falter and change and it wouldn't be for the better.

It couldn't be his mindset. Erik was a lot of things, but controlling, angry, and completely irrational weren't any of them. At least, the normal Erik wasn't like this – and that was the Erik Charles was going to use as his control in this "experiment" of his.

This other Erik was a tyrannical leader, however, it was only because he wanted to get things done and reach his goal. He was a taskmaster of sorts that just had his sights on the end. But there had to be a reason he was like this: angry, unmoving, inconsolable. A bad memory? A bad dream? A fear that has taken over? Any of these could be a possibility, but only with Erik talking to him could he actually pick one.

And Erik didn't seem to be talking about it anytime soon if the last time he tried was anything to go by.

Charles sighed to himself, releasing Erik's hand to go and find the other books on genetics, returning to the same spot next to the boy when he had found as many as he could.

Glancing at his friend, he pursed his lips, the thoughts of the darkness filtering to the back of his mind for the time being. Erik's neck was still in that awkward pose and it for some reason bothered Charles seeing it. It made his own neck ache just observing him. 

_There was no way that having your neck tilted that way would be comfortable._ He reached up and adjusted his friend's head until it rested on his shoulder.

Pleased with the situation for the moment, Charles opened the next book and immediately was sucked into another world where all he knew was science and things that didn't take hesitation, angry friends, and touchy subjects to discover.

….

_Daily Herald_

_December 9th, 1941_

_**BRITAIN AND U.S HIT BACK HARD AT JAPS** _

_**This was the Pacific war situation at midnight:** _

_Britain attacked Jap invaders of Malaya by air and land. Transports were bombed and driven off. RAF bombed Japs who invaded Thailand and were pushing south into Malaya._

_United States Navy and Air Force, attacking the Japs off Hawaii, destroyed planes and submarines. Bombers rushed from San Francisco. In Jap air raids a U.S. battleship cap-sized, a destroyer blew up and many planes were destroyed. Fifteen hundred people were killed._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Okay. So the question is, if you want me to continue this or not. I'm not quitting this story by any means, but when I originally planned out this story a few months ago, I planned for them to go to Auschwitz and planned to bring in some more X-men people might recognize as well as explain Erik's dark intentions Charles's has noticed. However, with the awful way I am at writing, it almost seems like the rebellion itself is going to be the end. So. Should I add Auschwitz or should I not? The verdict will dictate quite a bit haha._
> 
> _To explain what happened with Charles, he protected everyone else's mind but his own. He didn't think about it. They were priority. He thought he could handle it. When he found out he couldn't, it took him a while to actually think of going against it. He went with the safe route because while he is smart, he is still 16 and would go with the way that gave less pain before immediately jumping to action. It was only when he actually gave his mind the chance to be more active than just staring aimlessly that he was able to overcome it but he wouldn't have been able to do it if he did it the first day because he didn't know what the extent of the drug was. So. I hope that helps a bit? I realize it's a little confusing and I am really bad at writing or explaining things. It sounded so much better in my head haha._
> 
> _ALSO, I said I was going to post the first chapter of my Assassin's Creed Cherik crossover with this, however, I am still editing that one so it may be a day or two late. But it will be posted I promise! I'm honestly having too much fun with it. ^^"_
> 
> _Well, have a wonderful day. :)_


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _A/N: You know you haven't touched a part of your story in a long time when you read it and you are yelling at the characters. That was me. I was rereading it as I was editing it and haven't touched it in forever so I forgot what I wrote and was yelling at Charles and Erik to do this and that and yeah... It was very interesting._
> 
> _By the way, Hamilton is the best music to play when you want an upbeat song to help you soldier through editing haha_
> 
>  
> 
> _Another unsatisfying chapter but what can I do? Rebellion is coming up though so that one WILL be good. I am ironing that one out for sure. Haven't finished it yet since I haven't had time to actually sit down at write a chapter. Kind of fighting a migraine that has been going on for a week now just to finish editing this one. Let's see what happens._
> 
>  
> 
> _Enjoy the chapter! Sorry for the late update! ^^"_

Chapter 11

_"With an intention, they came together. With an objective, they grew closer. With an end, they became one." **– Anonymous**_

…..

When Erik finally woke up, he and Charles didn't speak of the fact that his head was on Charles's shoulder or that their hands were barely touching (for warmth of course.) Instead, Erik wanted to focus on the Rebellion and, in particular, the fact that they may need to rush his plan of 1 year of training to less than half a year for the sake of all that might happen. Charles didn't know why Erik was organizing this with him instead of Emma, but he had no complaints and lent his advice where it was needed.

The following weeks were filled with Erik helping Charles physically get ready for the rebellion and Emma training his mind to master other abilities. By the end of the first two months he was able to actually keep up with Erik, and he could block out people's thoughts he didn't want to hear.

The others were doing their part as well. Adalie was given stones and rocks and threw them at small piles of debris, the rocks exploding on impact. When he asked Erik what her ability was, he said that she could convert potential energy into kinetic.

She seemed to love doing it as well. A grin would plaster on her face and her eyes would faintly glow abnormally before she settled down. It made her look powerful and menacing.

Charles realized it was a good thing he didn't get on her bad side. He felt bad for any person who was going to be at this point.

Albert apparently had the ability to turn kinetic energy into a physical beam or pressure of power, similar to Adalie's but not quite, which made his finger snaps of energy a lot easier to accept.

Stephan seemed to be what the others called a "Selfless Mutant." When Charles asked what this was, they replied that it was when a mutant was given an ability not to aid themselves or improve their person, but to help others instead with no benefit to themselves. Stephan was like this. He had a "healing factor," as they called it, and was the one to heal everyone's wounds when needed. Charles didn't know what else he had though and he had a feeling there was something. Maybe a hunch.

He saw all kinds of powers in that time. Some that he was envious of and others that he questioned a little out of scientist curiosity. It was like watching something come to life or seeing a flower bloom. His "family" was showing their true colors and although they had to be quiet and secretive in fear of the guards catching whiff of their actions, Charles could tell they were enjoying it to the fullest.

Of course, the training wasn't all powers and mutations. There was plenty of talk going around. Plans and strategy mostly but also the small jabs of teasing and fun.

It started when Charles was in the middle of working on expanding how many people he can affect at one time. One second he was alone, and the next he was fully aware he had a few people around him.

When he opened his eyes, he was met with three curious ones.

"So, Charles," One of them, Francis, asked cheekily. "I have a question for you."

"Ask away then." Charles removed his hands from his temples and placed them in his lap, blinking at the trio in front of him. Adalie was to the left of Francis and at the other side was Albert, though he looked like he didn't want to be there really.

"What are you and the leader?"

He could sense the eagerness. There was plenty of it to go around. Their thoughts screamed interest and excitement like it was the only two emotions to drive them. It almost made him want to laugh if he knew the reason why they were so excited. For his answer? But they should know it by now, shouldn't they?

"Erik? We're friends." Charles tilted his head when they blinked at him.

"Friends? Just that?" Even Albert was paying attention now. Adalie was snickering as Francis didn't look one second into comprehending what Charles said. Why was it surprising?

Albert shook Francis's shoulder tentatively, "You okay?"

"I think Francis is facing what all of us are," Adalie whispered behind her hand though Charles could see the amused grin on her face.

"No. No that can't be. The way you two- You can't just be friends!"

"If it makes you feel better, close friends might be the best way to say it really?" he laughed but nobody else joined him.

Francis looked absolutely surprised. Adalie and Albert shook him out of his stupor and with a farewell, the trio left.

This wasn't the only time he was asked. It turned into a daily thing with one person or two people asking him and then hiding behind anything really as he talked to Erik. It was embarrassing.

_"Do you like Lehnsherr? More than a friend?"_

_"What even are you two?"_

_"Is there something going on that we don't know?"_

He's heard many variations of the same question that it was dizzying.

What answer did they want?

Whatever the case, he didn't let this stop him from doing his best and practiced just as hard as the rest of them – even if he has a mental ability and probably holds the physical strength of a kitten in reality.

It distracted him from the thoughts that plagued him some nights. About Erik usually which were so ridiculous that he just slept them away. It was probably from the story he read. It affected him more than he thought.

At least, that was what he told himself a lot of the time. He didn't understand what else it could be.

….

_"Anxiety is the dizziness of freedom." **\- Søren Kierkegaard ******_

…

Before he knew it, six months had passed by, and Charles was found lying the night before with an anxiety so powerful it was rivaling the night he fretted over Erik's health at home.

At _home._ It was weird thinking that now. After all, before he came here he saw home as a physical place, something that he should be at to feel comfortable and at ease.

Now that wasn't so much the case. He was finding a home in people instead. In his mum and in Erik's. In his friends Adalie, Albert, Stephan. Most of all, in his friend Erik.

But Erik was a strange case. Months ago, he never really thought about Erik more than a friend. It wasn't until one day when Adalie cornered him in the library that he was forced to consider otherwise.

It wasn't until after she cornered him that he finally caught onto why everyone was asking him things about Erik.

_-Flashback—_

He saw her before she walked over to him. He may have been nose deep in the fifth book of genetics by the same author – an absolutely brilliant man by the way – but he wasn't as blind and oblivious as people assumed him to be. It didn't take much to see out of the corner of his eyes.

"Adalie, a pleasure to see you as always," Charles greeted, looking up to see her sit next to him. "Did you know that each of our characteristics are determined by these structures called alleles? I never knew! Additionally, there are recessive and dominant ones, too! Like my blue eyes and your hazel are recessive. They don't happen often. And then-"

"Charles, I'm sorry to interrupt you because I'm sure it's fascinating, but I have more pressing matters to ask you."

Charles shut up and put his book down, giving his friend his absolute attention. "I'm sorry, Adalie. I kind of rambled a bit there. It's just amazing to understand is all." He smiled apologetically. "But my attention is completely on you. Speak your mind."

Adalie ran a hand through her hair that was, for once, not in a ponytail. She averted her gaze to look around at all the pillars in the library before resting on Charles once again.

It was weird seeing her act this way. She was definitely the kind of person to speak her mind and with a bluntness that stated she had no qualms being herself in the matter. She wasn't the kind of hesitate. That wasn't the type of person she was. Charles, needless to say, got a little nervous. What was so pressing that she was acting this way?

"You know I won't judge you no matter what you have to say to me, Adalie."

"I know. It's just," she let out a huff of air and rubbed the back of her neck, grimacing as she pondered her next words. "What are you to Erik? Let's start with that."

"I am his friend first and foremost," Charles recited slowly, having been used to being asked this on multiple occasions. What other way was there to be?

Adalie nodded and motioned for him to go on. When he didn't she sighed exasperatedly. "But…? Come on, Charles. You can tell me. There _has_ to be a but there. With how the two of you act around each other… _mon dieu_ it's almost saint-like how oblivious you are. A _l'ange_ truly."

"I am confused. I don't see what you are saying," Charles confessed, his fingers intertwining and releasing themselves repeatedly in his nervous confusion.

"Obviously! Or you would be completely different with him." She groaned and twirled her air around her finger, tugging it absently as she muttered to herself. "What am I thinking? Of course, they are nothing more than friends. Stupid boys and their-"

Charles placed a hand on her arm, "What's the matter? Just say what's on your mind. You have always done so before. Now shouldn't be any different."

Sighing, Adalie turned to face Charles. They were close but with his things seemed to be going, how the conversation was turning, it seemed an understanding had to be made.

"Do you have… _sentiments,_ feelings, for Erik?"

Charles blinked, surprised by the turn of events. "I.. have never thought about it. Or just… feelings in general."

"Oh! I'm sorry-"

"No no it's fine! Really!" Charles was quick to hush, laughing to himself. "So this is what everyone meant when they kept asking me that, right? I can't fathom why, though."

Adalie gave him a look and if a single look could give a thousand words, hers said millions. "Charles. Do you _not_ see how the two of you act?"

"Like friends?" He supplied weakly, afraid to see where this was heading.

"Mon frère, no. At least, to all of us it doesn't look like that. When you first came to the meetings, you were sick. Erik usually snapped at us a lot but that day he was quiet and kept looking at you. When you two were leaving, he had the look of a man in distress, Charles. Like you being sick would end him. I understand you were more than out of it, but something must have clicked in that brilliant head of yours."

"He was acting like a friend should, Adalie. I fail to see how him looking worried for my health translates to him... having feelings for me."

"Oh? Okay. Well, how about the time when he was being an absolute tyrant, and I came to pick you up. The second you walk in, he listens to you. Completely. Absolutely. He actually doesn't argue with you. Listen to me on this. The way you two speak – it's like you two are already _Amoureux._ Darling? _Haschen?"_ Charles blinked at her in confusion and she looked two seconds from throttling him. "Okay. Well. What about the morning after you were sick – and yeah, I heard _all_ about it from Emma surprisingly enough, though I don't know how _she_ knew – and how the two of you were?"

"Emma?"

"She is Erik's friend more or less. She does check on him," Adalie explained quickly. "But you're breaking the subject, Charles. Answer the question."

"It was for warmth and survival-"

"And affection! Affection, Charles. Say it with me. Af-fec-tion. Just three little syllables that surely mattered then! Did he act weird at all that morning? The smallest change? Come on. Humor me for a second."

"Well," Charles thought it over for a second before offering, "He did look stricken with how we were. Like he had done something wrong. He said he _"Did I do anything? What had happened? I was sleeping next to him – not anything more than that"_ which was rather odd I guess. But he must have been as surprised as I was."

Adalie was quiet for a long time, just staring at Charles like she was having an epiphany.

After this occurred for a few minutes, Charles felt his resolve falter. "Adalie. Please say something. Your staring is a little intimidating."

"You really are oblivious. Completely so. _Mon dieu._ " She laughed to herself and twirled her hair around her fingers again. "Wow. Charles, please don't take this the wrong way, but you are entirely the most brilliant idiot I have the pleasure of knowing."

"But I am still an idiot?"

"Yes. Like I said, you are the biggest oblivious idiot I know." She groaned and rubbed her face before placing both of her hands on Charles's shoulders. "It seems I am going to have to be a lot more convincing than I have to be. A bit more work but if it will get Erik off my back then that's fine."

"What do you mean off your back?"

"He thinks that we," she motioned between them two. "Are having a little _rendezvous,_ so to speak. Irrationally actually. We only meet twice a week _at most_ and half of them are for the meetings and I'm walking you back to your building, but apparently the little green monster got him rather well."

"I.." Charles drifted off. "You lost me."

"Pay attention, Charles. All shall be revealed if you just listen to what I have to say instead of immediately ignoring it."

"Do you remember the days when you were under the drug? The newer one to which no one could get a response out of you? I remember them, but I'm almost positive Erik remembers them most. He wouldn't say much and Emma got little out of his head, not that I like her but if our leader is going off the deep end we need a plan B quickly, you know? Anyways, he kept by your side for the majority of the time and kept making rings and bracelets and an assortment of jewelry. Always the same piece of metal. It's like he couldn't quite figure something out.

"But I'm getting side-tracked. He kept talking to you and he talked about a majority of things when he thought no one was listening. I heard he talked about this fight you two had but I mostly heard he talked about these feelings he had for you."

She removed her hands from Charles's shoulders and leaned against the wall. "You said he said those words when he woke up with the predicament you two were in. Those were not the words of a friend, though a part of them probably was. _Not anything more than that?_ Charles, that's not something a friend would ponder unless they already had feelings to think more than that."

Charles was quiet, fiddling with the frays that were ever increasing in his trousers. "But he never mentions them to me."

"How would he? It is clear he doesn't want to because he's afraid of how you will react. This isn't a time, nor the war, to be like he is feeling for you. You know this. You told me about the journal of that boy you read. He doesn't want to risk telling you and having you rush off and never talk to him again."

"But I wouldn't!"

"Would you?"

He felt his lips thin as he repeated again with a certainty that came from his unshakeable loyalty. "No. I wouldn't. Why would I?"

But she didn't answer his question. "Then what would you tell him, Charles?" She held up a finger. "And before you answer that, listen to me for a second. I know for a fact you have _something_ for him as well. I see the way you watch Emma and Erik sometimes and by the way, they are nothing more than weird friends so don't worry about that. You don't like how she acts flirtatious, charming, and, well, _her_ around Erik but everyone else is fair game. That's jealousy, Charles. You are jealous of her because of how she can treat Erik."

"I am not jealous," he scoffed.

"Yes, you are and you won't admit it because you never thought of it. I'm guessing you've never had a crush before. Probably have been focused on books all your life. So, of course, you wouldn't know what I am talking about but consider it."

"I—"

She placed a finger on his lips. "Consider it, mon amie. I don't want an answer but I expect this to be resolved by the time our Rebellion hits. The sooner Erik gets over himself the better if you ask me. We want a good head on his shoulders, not a conflicted love-afflicted one."

_-End Flashback—_

That was a week ago. Since then, Charles had been focused on what she had said, but he kept going in circles. Circles and circles and nothing straight and narrow and to the point. He hated circles. Hated drawing them when his teacher asked him to and hated going in them no matter if it was in his head or in real life.

Erik was a _friend._ He _was_ a friend. _Erik_ was a friend.

Yes. That was the truth. It had to be the truth.

But when he thought of the book he encountered in the library, the story of the boy who happened to like another boy, he felt that certainty falter where it never had before.

After all, for the longest time now he believed Erik to be his friend, and he most certainly was. Nothing would change that! The mere thought was absolutely ridiculous. But the idea that he may be… more was even more questionable.

Charles groaned and turned on the cot. Suddenly he felt too hot residing next to his mum. It was still cool this night, but it wasn't as frigid as the past few months had been. Yet he was incredibly warm and bothered and just not comfortable where he was.

It was all Adalie's fault for having him actually think about it in this way, but she had her reasons. He didn't want to Rebellion to go wrong tomorrow either.

How would tomorrow go? Well? Not? If it did okay, then they would be out. True, they might be fugitives so-to-speak, but time could get rid of that surely.

If it ended badly, what would happen then? He has heard whispers of concentration camps and that a new one more awful than the rest had been created recently. Auschwitz so the name goes. Would they go there?

_Gah this was utterly ridiculous! If you don't get any sleep Charles, you might be the reason they fail! Stop overthinking this! This and Erik and everything!_

His thoughts quieted for a split second before coming back in a ten-fold.

Sighing in defeat, he stood and walked out of the building, sneaking his way through the shadows to the library. Over time the board had grown easier to lift, which may as well be due to the training Erik put him under. He felt built and actually something more than bone and faint fat, but still his lean self. It gave him substantial value he thought.

And then there was Erik again.

_Not now._ He thought resolutely, opening the door to the warm room. _Genetics will get rid of these silly thoughts, right? Clearly, I'm just overthinking what Adalie told me. I don't have feelings. Nope. Not me. Adalie is just reading too much into my emotions, obviously._

He should have known better than to say that, but denial was a trait Charles harbored well then.

The library wasn't as empty as he thought it would be when he arrived.

"Hey! Charles is here. Where is our grumbling leader? Tell him his mistress has arrived!" A boy, Harold if Charles recalled correctly, exclaimed, his short cut black hair sticking up in various places.

"Barely a man! Hardly a mistress," Charles laughed and avoided the nudging coming from the rest of the team. Adalie was in the corner, talking to Albert about French phrases when he walked over.

"Hope I'm not interrupting anything?"

"You? Interrupt something? As if." Adalie teased while throwing an arm around his shoulders. Albert chose to exchange a handshake; which Charles wasn't averse to either. "We were just talking about you."

"Good things I hope?"

Albert coughed into his hand and Adalie sent him a glare. "More like a bet on you but I suppose that is still talking, yes?"

Adalie looked ten seconds from strangling the poor boy.

"And this is why you don't participate in them!" Adalie complained while Charles sent quizzical looks to them.

"A bet? On what?"

Adalie looked behind her and Charles turned to see Erik. He wasn't his usual strict self now. There was a certain confidence about him. He knew this was going to work. That this rebellion had to work. It was admirable. Charles wished he had the same confidence, but the "what ifs" kept hitting him like a small punching bag.

When he looked back at Adalie, she rose a brow and the conversation from earlier came back. He immediately shook his head and proceeded to change the subject.

_Not now._ It seemed to be a mantra almost at this point.

Hours later found him sitting against the wall. Albert had left as did half the others. Emma, Erik, Adalie and he were all that remained though he didn't know where the first two went. It didn't matter. Adalie was relaxed against him, head on his shoulders as he idly played with her hair. It was a comfortable pose. Relaxing.

"You know why I took an immediate liking to you, Charles?"

"Why?"

She laughed. "It's silly really, but you reminded me of mon frère Remy. Young. Ambitious. Odd but not in a bad way. I kind of projected him onto you."

"Where is he now? Here?"

"Oh no. Nowhere here," she laughed though there was a certain wishing tone he caught despite her nonchalance. "He's far away. Far from here. Taken to the Americas so he can be as far from this war as possible. I just worry about how the normals take him. He... Isn't normal, Remy."

"Mutant?"

She nodded. "In a way but different than I am. I'm sure he will find someone, though. He is like you, Charles. Likable."

"I see," Charles murmured. He didn't really. Didn't understand siblings and all that because he never had any. His parents were content with one child, and a boy at that who could carry the family name. They weren't much of parents though so it was for the best he didn't have any siblings.

But Adalie clearly loved hers. Kind of like he to his mum or he to Erik.

So that much he understood.

" _Ton amour_ at 1 o'clock," Charles looked in the direction and saw Erik round the corner of the bookshelf. Flushed by the term she used, he nudged her and almost scolded her when she snickered under her breath, "Worth it."

Erik seemed more relaxed now than his confident boasting self earlier. Subdued but not in a bad way. Maybe he was tired. God only knew how late it was. It might be closer to dawn by now. Anyone would be tired by this point - even Charles was leaning that way when earlier he was wide awake.

Pausing at how Charles and Adalie were, he rose a brow. Charles was confused but Adalie seemed to respond immediately if not reluctantly.

" _Oui._ I get it I get it. You want to talk to him alone, yeah?" She stood and sighed, patting Charles's head as she walked out the door with a "See you later, Charles." It was so fast that Charles half suspected that she planned it.

When it was just Charles and Erik left, Charles peered around his friend. "Where is Emma? Wasn't she here?"

"Left earlier, Häschen. You were just busy talking with your friends."

"They are yours as well, darling," Charles scoffed but something flitted into Erik's gaze. Briefly dark and foreboding but he decided not to comment on it. He didn't want another argument. Not until they successfully got out of here.

It didn't change the fact that he didn't know why it even showed up from his reply.

"Maybe a small bit," Erik eventually conceded with a small smile, motioning for Charles to get up. "We might want to head back. Dawn will hit soon."

"I thought so." Charles got up and stretched his aching bones, thanking his friend as he held open the door for the both of them.

As soon as they got outside the crisp morning air bit at his nose and skin and he shivered. It wasn't as cold as it was months earlier, but it was definitely chilly. Hopefully, after today he could actually burrow in a blanket and enjoy a cup of tea instead of rubbing endlessly at his arms for warmth.

They made their way over the fence that separated their little sanctuary from the rest of the ghetto.

Suddenly Charles felt a hand grab his wrist. A repeat of the first time he realized who Erik was. This time confusion replaced anger in him.

Turning to face his friend, he noticed Erik was nervous about something. His eyes which were normally a subtle blue were stark against the almost pale skin. Charles liked them a lot.

As he waited for Erik to say something, the thoughts about Erik that he kept back made it to the front in a snap. Everything from what Adalie told him to the chance of jealousy he may have (though he wasn't going to admit it!). He found himself looking at Erik's face and gently poking into his mind to get the small pieces of emotion flitting about like butterflies. It was kind of… nice to see actually. Erik was just a nice person in general if you knew him well enough, but no one seemed to know him as well as Charles, or as closely as he did.

But when he thought about what Adalie told him, he couldn't exactly go much further. He was afraid to and confused as well. Erik was his rock. He was the reason Charles wasn't confounded with grief when he first arrived. The reason he actually matured in a sense and found out about his mutation.

He was a bit over protective but it was admirable. He was determined and strong and had an authority that Charles wished he had. People listened to him and he knew how to talk and actually make conversation with people, which Charles was average at best at. He had a kind heart and an even kinder mind that went hand in hand with his loyalty.

There truly was too much Charles liked about Erik but could that lead to... _Like_ liking him? Really? He never understood it. Never experienced it.

Erik seemed just as confused as he let go of Charles's wrist and opened his mouth.

"The rebellion strikes today."

That was all?

"I know, my friend. Are you ready?"

A small quirk of the lip. "Of course. Are you?"

He laughed. "As ready as I will ever be. A bit nervous if I were to be honest with myself, though."

"You'll do amazing, Häschen. You always do." Charles felt his face flush when he heard the praise and cursed his heart. _Stop it. He's being nice. My goodness._

But he felt his thoughts stutter when he felt a hand lift his chin to look Erik completely in the eyes.

"I'm just me, Erik. I've had my powers the shortest, and I know how to use them the least. I'm more of a liability than not, and I don't like admitting that, I hope you know."

"No, you've had your powers as long as all of us if not longer. You just didn't know of them until you got here and look at you now. You're as talented as the rest of us. You're as ready as the rest of us. I'm positive you will do fine."

"Ha. Maybe," Charles accepted with a smile.

He was hoping that Erik would release him because he didn't understand why he was keeping him here in the first place. Not to mention his heart was doing somersaults in his chest, and he truly didn't understand why _that_ was happening.

But he didn't and opened his mouth before shutting it.

It took a minute for him to finally speak and when he did, his hands shook worse than what came with his ability being forced away. "Charles. There is something I would like to tell you."

"Anything, my friend," He said in instinctively.

But no words came out.

Silence met him like a brick wall. Erik looked torn and there was something in how his hands battled between letting Charles go or pulling him closer that caught the boy's eye.

Charles was beginning to worry. Was something wrong?

Then warm hands lifted the hand with the ring on it. Slowly, Erik pulled it off and gave it back to Charles. "Look inside it. Shine it to the moon."

"Inside it?" Charles tilted it in the moonlight and caught a small scripture alone in the inside of the ring. He narrowed his eyes as he tried to read it.

_**Ich will dich an meiner Seite, meine Liebe. Für immer.** _

_I want you by my side, my love. Forever._

Charles had no words. No words and no thoughts. He was in a moment of pure silence for once. He had no comeback or response. He didn't know what to say.

Was this here the entire time? It was, wasn't it? It was engraved in here, but Charles never removed the ring in fear that he would lose it. It was too precious to lose.

He put the ring back on but he couldn't say anything as he just stared at it in wonder, trying to comprehend the emotions in his mind right now.

Confusion? Happiness? Something else?

"All this time? This has been here?"

Erik nodded and settled his hands back on Charles's wrists. Charles didn't care about it now. He was in too much shock to care.

"From the beginning?"

Another nod. This was with even less certainty.

Charles was in the middle of staring at the ring when he felt something soft press against his lips.

Blinking, he watched as Erik pulled away. His face was red and he looked nervous and almost as terrified as the morning they woke up together. He wouldn't even look at Charles at all now.

Charles himself was confused for a second. In the back of his mind, he swore he could hear Adalie yell, "I told you so!" and she would have the right to. She was right. But he said he would still be friends with Erik but his heart didn't seem to like that idea. It hurt at just the word friend. Clenched and struck him.

He didn't know what to say. He had been working his way through the feelings in his chest for a while now but right now was the time he had to decide. Who knew what was going to happen? They might die or they might live. But he didn't want to leave Erik with that burning answer of "let me think about it" even though it might be the best for what might happen.

So he thought long and hard about his words and realized he couldn't even say them when he finally put them together.

The hands were loosening around his wrists and Charles took advantage of that, removing them completely but not putting them down. Not just yet.

The expression Erik had was trying to hide behind an expressionless mask but Charles knew better. His friend must be taking his silence the wrong way. Of course, he would. He would immediately jump to the mistakes rather than anything else.

Charles, for once, wasn't overthinking this. He just let his actions prove themselves. Thinking would mess this up. Thinking might muddle what he finally came to terms with.

Maybe he was an oblivious idiot. Just a little.

Grabbing a small bit of Erik's shirt, he pulled him down and kissed him. It was awkward and he bumped Erik's nose a few times (how did people do this?), but after a second he found a good position and kept kissing his unresponsive friend until he felt a hand fall to his waist and another tilt his face just a little.

It was weird Charles thought. Kissing and all that. When he saw his parents do it, it always kind of grossed him out and made his stomach twist at the mere thought that he might one day do that.

But now it was strangely okay. Erik was okay. Erik was more than okay actually. This was the first person he had truly kissed but if he had the guess Erik was good at it. Of course, this was just on one trial of this experiment. He would need more to be sure.

Charles eventually had to pull away to breathe and opened his eyes (when had he closed them?) to see a grinning Erik. He was positively beaming and Charles couldn't help but mirror it.

But then the grin faltered a little. "You're not doing this out of pity, are you? Answer this, Häschen."

"Pity?" _Why would this be pity? Who would do this out of pity?_ "Darling, no. No, not at all. I mean everything. Does it look like I can fake affection out of pity? I didn't even know I had a fancy to you until recently."

That seemed to resolve the tension, and Charles felt the worry twisting inside him finally give way.

A hand reached out and though it was shaky it was warm and found its way to intertwine their fingers together. Charles found no objections to the matter and happily squeezed their hands. The ring felt warm on his fingers and he had a feeling it was Erik's doing.

When they got back to the living quarters, he found he didn't want to release said hand. Not right now. It wasn't for some desire or because he was afraid. Nothing like that. He just wanted someone there. Since tomorrow could go either way, he wanted to have someone he cared for there for the final day of "normalcy."

And wasn't that a funny word on its own? Normalcy? In this place? No, this wasn't normal. He wasn't supposed to lose more weight than was healthy, and he wasn't supposed to almost lose all of his family in under a year. He wasn't supposed to be in this place and neither were the others in his opinion.

He shouldn't be able to feel his cheek bones and see dark circles under his eyes from his sleepless nights. He shouldn't be able to have to use a piece of rope to keep his trousers up simply because they didn't fit his waist. His hands shook and were often cold. His lips were chapped. He had blisters on his feet and has dealt with more pain than he ever wanted to.

And this was normal, wasn't it? Normal. In a sense, normal was defined as being the usual or routine.

He was tired of it being normal.

Erik seemed to somehow sense this and tugged them over to Charles's cot. His mum was fast asleep and breathing softly as Erik let go of his hand and motioned for him to lay down. Soon after he followed and hesitated before wrapping his arms around Charles.

Charles almost had to laugh at this. The first time this happened, it was an accident and Erik had freaked out so badly it kind of scared Charles a little. Now he knew why of course but it was still funny how perhaps half a year later it led to this.

"Häschen?"

"Yes?"

Erik paused before he continued. "Whatever happens today, I hope you know that I will do anything to keep you alive. You primarily and my _mutter,_ of course." He took a deep breath and sighed. "I don't know if it will end well. I'd say we are ready. That we have always been ready. But anything could happen."

"That is true," Charles agreed. "But we have done so well so far. Practiced so much and learned so much and I've probably made more friends since I've been here than when I was outside this place - which is still not your fault for getting me here in the first place by the way. We are definitely ready. Ready as we will ever be, you know? It's like we are superheroes."

A smile. "Superheroes?"

Charles found himself smiling too. "Yeah! You would be... Magneto because of your metal powers and I would be... Hm..."

"Professor X?" Erik teased. "I mean. You are a genius enough to become one. I saw all the genetics books you have read."

"It sounds nerdy and weird."

"I think it's fitting. Weird just like you are."

"Oi!" Charles laughed nudging Erik a little. Erik chuckled a little as well before kissing Charles on the forehead.

"Good night, Häschen."

And Erik was smiling as he said the endearment he called Charles so many times. He smiled like he was finally able to mean it.

"Goodnight, darling."

As Erik fell asleep, Charles found himself slowly leaning in that direction.

He hoped everything went well tomorrow. That would be nice. He missed the wind in his hair as he ran. He missed being able to learn without it being scolded for. He missed his bed with his quilts and blankets and nice pillows. He missed his father, but he knew he wouldn't be able to get him back no matter how much he wished.

He hoped his mum remained his mum when they got out.

Would they leave Warsaw? Leave this country and go back to London?

Charles didn't think he could do it. Couldn't do it unless Erik and his mum were to go with.

But he was tired of thinking. Too much thinking. He was bad at that. If he was going to be his best, he needed to go to sleep.

And with Erik's arms around him and his mum on the other side, he found that surprisingly easy.

…

_"Fault lines tremble underneath my glass house_

_But I put it out of my mine_

_Long enough to call it courage_

_To live without a lifeline._

_I bend the definition_

_Of faith to exonerate my blind eye._

_'Till the sirens sound, I'm safe."_

_**– "Earth" by Sleeping At Last** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _So! I'm going to probably take my time on the next chapter because it is a very important chapter, but I might post the first chapter of the other fic I was pondering for a while._
> 
> _I got to put the ring in! I've been waiting to use the ring forever!! Also, there is a method to Charles repeating what he thought of Erik. It's kind of how his mind was working through it. Repeat the same thing and see if there is a difference or try to stay in denial. I know it probably was repetitious to read but I have a method to my terrible writing haha._
> 
> _Have a wonderful day. :)_


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Rebellion began today. It began and nobody knew how the outcome would be. Whether they should be prepared for success or for failure. They were too close to blindly choose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _A/N: -Takes a deep breath-_
> 
> _This chapter and the next chapter were the hardest to write. The hardest to edit. The hardest to create. In fact, they might be the hardest chapters of any story I've written ever. There was something about them that made it so difficult, and if I hadn't been playing Hamilton and had an energy drink by my side, it would have been impossible for me to get it done tonight._
> 
> _But they are done. For now. I won't say what happens because that would spoil a lot. It took a lot of thought to decide their fate. I'm not sure how you all will think of it, but hopefully, you enjoy this?_
> 
> _I apologize for my misuse of French later on in the chapter. I am new to the language and only know enough for pleasantries and such. Not enough to write conversation fluently. I'll keep the translations (or what they should be for the story) at the bottom._
> 
> _Enjoy and please have a lovely day._

Chapter 12

It was weird today. That was what Charles concluded as everyone else went along their day with their usual things to do. Cleaning. Playing in the small square where weeds broke through stone. Chatting lively and sometimes vehemently. Everyone but the Rebellion who were told to meet in the meeting room one last time before they began.

The Rebellion was going to be in the evening. The setting sun would set shadows that were easier to hide in than morning or afternoon when the sun was at its highest.

What Erik and the others hoped was that if the others saw it happen, their Rebellion, they would take advantage of it and join in. It would make a greater impact. Make a statement. They might actually win it, not saying that they wouldn't without their help, of course.

But their chances would rise significantly. He didn't need math to know that.

Charles was currently sitting down in front of a stained and dusty mirror that was in the restroom. Edie was humming behind him as she snipped his hair here and there. It was already long enough to be on his shoulders, so he kindly asked for her to cut it shorter.

The last thing he needed was his own hair to distract him. Erik would never let him live it down.

It was quiet as she went along her way. For the life of him, Charles didn't know what to say, though. Which was a miracle really. Conversations were one of the things he was good at amongst other things, but he couldn't quite think of anything else besides Erik and the previous night and what that meant.

He was… Might be… Will be dating her son, his friend, Erik. Would she be okay with it? The boy in the story didn't seem to end well, but Edie always teased them for being so close so maybe it was okay? She didn't seem to be as cruel as that boy's parents. The polar opposite but she might still be…

Who was he kidding? He didn't have the slightest clue what to think.

He didn't want to leave her in the dark. That much was certain in his mind. But then again, he didn't want to leave anyone with half-given answers and a lot of questions. Just in case this went wrong.

Secrets were wonderful and exciting if they were necessary. This one didn't have to be in Charles's opinion, but when he asked Erik what he thought this morning, Erik simply shrugged and murmured a, "Whatever you want to do I will be fine with, Häschen." He then kissed his forehead, laughed at how Charles got as red as the morning sun peaking over the horizon, and then ran off to the library.

This was _their_ declaration to tell. Charles didn't find it fair in the slightest that he had to be the one fidgeting like a little kid about this.

Stupid Erik and his _"Häschen"_ and everything.

There went his face again. He _really_ should get that under control or he would become a permanent tomato at this rate!

Goodness, it was funny to think he was 16 yet he was going through all of this. Funny in the way that it was completely unbelievable unless you actually went through it. Any outsiders would just shake their heads in disbelief.

Not just his fancy, but his entire situation from his father's involvement to the ghetto and then the finality: the Rebellion. It seems like something straight out of a cartoon or program. Not many would believe him at all if he repeated this entire event.

The same thing could have been said for him if he hadn't been brought here.

"Charles. I'm done."

He tilted his head and noticed how his head felt a lot lighter. It seemed now his hair was back to its old length and then some. It was wonderful. He didn't realize he missed it until now.

"Thank you," he smiled and was about to hop up and meet Erik in the library when her voice stopped him at the doorway.

"Is there something on your mind? You seemed deep in thought even though I tried to talk to you. Something important?" She would notice, wouldn't she?

_She's known you for almost a year now, Charles. Of course, she would know how much of a chatterbox you could be on your best of days. She isn't blind or deaf!_

"Um," Charles opened his mouth but no words came out. He felt his fingers fiddle with his ring and a ridiculous flush was creeping up his neck. He hadn't even said anything! This was silly. What was he going to say? Why didn't he think about this instead of his current life? _Stupid! What happened to your quick tongue? Think of something!_ "Well…"

"Did my son finally tell you?"

Charles blinked and it took a second to register her beaming face. Did she mean…? "He did tell me something. Um. But what are you implying so I know we are talking about the same thing?"

She motioned something rolling off her chest, excitement making her actions quick and frantic. There was the beginning of a smile on her face. "His feelings. Did he tell you them?"

_What?_

He nodded slowly, and Edie positively squealed in delight as she stood and hugged the life out of Charles. He couldn't help but laugh a little at her excitement and squeezed her back in equal measure. She kept gently swooning him back and forth, murmuring happy little things under her breath he couldn't make out.

It was like a weight was shifted off Charles's chest. Well, partially anyways. He still had his own mum to talk to.

When he finally got out of Edie's hugs and contagious happiness, he began to make his way back to his mum at the living quarters instead of making his way to Erik. For some reason, having Edie know gave him a new found confidence to approach his mum.

He already planned on talking to her today. He didn't know what was going to happen after all. They might escape and make a safe life away from this place… But then again they may not do as well as they trained so hard for. It would make him feel better if he told his mum at least everything he could before things went bad – _if_ they went bad. He had to stop this pessimistic nonsense. He was optimistic for reason!

Hid mother was sitting on the cot, reading a small book that Charles managed to bring back for her from the library. It was something written by Shakespeare so he thought she might like it. She liked all the classics for their language or something like that.

When he approached, she put the book down and looked up.

"Is something the matter? Usually, you are with Erik all the time that I don't see you until sunset or even until morning." He felt that it could have been a scolding but her tone was full of teasing mothering. She was just curious. Just curious that was all.

Suddenly, he didn't feel so tall and mighty telling his mum this.

Sitting down next to her, he brought his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, placing his chin comfortably over top. "Mum. I have something I want to tell you."

"You make it sound like it is important. I take that it is serious, then?"

"Very. I don't know what you will say, but I want you to listen nevertheless and whatever you think after I finish you can say freely." He took a deep breath and stared at a small blade of grass fighting its way through a crack in the concrete ground. "I love you. Even when we were not in this place and you scolded me about manners and all. Even when we didn't really… talk much then. It was okay, but you were my mother then. It's hard to say or explain, but you're more like a mum to me now. I feel like I can talk to you and it won't be ignored.

"There is going to be some things that go on today. It's going to be loud, and I'm sure you will see some things and you might see me in the core of it somehow. I don't know. I don't know what will happen, but I just wanted to tell you thank you for coming back. Thank you for not leaving me here alone. Thank you for just being around and not staying on that boat you told me about. You're my last living family, and I wish that it wasn't true but I know it is."

Charles laughed and he realized that he had a small trail of tears coming down his face. He hadn't cried in quite a while. "I'm rambling a lot. I need to get to the point. Everyone tells me that I never stop talking." He sniffled a little. "So. I love you a lot. As much as I did then and whatever happens today, I hope you love me, too. I'm not brave and I'm not strong, but I have to be today. I hope you're not disappointed in me and still see me as your son."

He didn't look at his mum when he finished. He didn't want to look. Here he was getting all emotional and she probably was just fine. He was so silly crying from this.

"Is that all you have to say?" There was a catch in her voice but maybe it was his imagination.

There was hesitation in him now. He… didn't know what to say. Yes? That all he wanted to say was I love you? It wouldn't be false. It was what he planned to tell her.

But it wouldn't be completely true either so he shook his head. "What I'm going to tell you might make you upset. I've only… read about it and it didn't end well. I fancy someone and… they happened to fancy me, too. They are a wonderful person and you've met them. They made me this," he showed the ring and twisted it anxiously. "We might be dating, and I wanted to tell you this before things happened today."

His mum was quiet for a minute and when she spoke up, there was very little inflection in her voice. "You kept saying them and they. Am I to assume "they" are not female?"

Charles nodded, not trusting his words.

"Okay," she took a deep breath. "Then another question. Is this… boy you are seeing a good one? Will he watch over you and make sure you don't get hurt? Will he make you happy? That's all that really matters to me. If he makes you happy."

Images of Erik flitted to his mind. The smile when he saw his mum every evening. The way he laughed when Charles did something silly and often embarrassing. How absolutely elated he was when Charles said yes the previous night. The warmth of his hand. Everything came to him and he couldn't hold back the smile that came with it.

"He does."

He felt an arm wrap around his side and tug him closer. His mum rested her head on his as she rubbed his side slowly. She didn't say much for a while, but the silence and her comfort was all he needed.

Their little moment lasted not very long. While his mum was trying to be mother-like, she wasn't used to being close to him for a long time. He understood. It would take time for that. At least she was allowing it now.

"You've matured a lot while I was gone and even now. You're not the same little boy who jumped in puddles and made complaints during parties. I can tell. You're older and while a part of me doesn't wish it to be so, wishes I could have another chance to be a part of your younger life, I'm proud of who you became. How could I not?"

Charles nodded, mute and void of words. He felt an abundant level of happiness swell inside of him. So much so that the tears that threatened before came anew and he furiously wiped them away.

When he stood up, debating on going to the library until the meeting, he turned to his mum.

"Thank you for understanding. And for… not pushing me away."

She sighed. "Truthfully, I'm not completely okay with it, but I will get used to it. If he makes you happy, then I shouldn't allow prejudice to get rid of that fact." Then she smiled. An actual happy smile. "Tell Erik that he is lucky to have found you."

Charles was dumbfounded for a second before he turned and went to the library, his mind still on his mother's words.

When he stumbled in, he found Erik leafing through one of the pamphlets. "Did you know my mother knew? About us?"

Erik put the book down and walked over, pressing a small kiss to Charles's forehead. "Good afternoon to you, too, Häschen. Yes, I had a feeling she knew. Much like my own _mutter._ I assume you told them?"

"Well, it was more like your mum figured it out."

"I wonder how," Erik mused when Charles's face heated up.

"Shut up! I-I just thought of you and my face got red and get rid of that smirk! It's not funny. She just got it immediately, and she was so happy, Erik. She looked like she was told the happiest news in the world." Charles found himself smiling as he remembered it. How she hugged him and kept thanking him for reasons he didn't understand. "She really wanted this, didn't she?"

Erik let a small smile grace his features. The smile that only appeared when they talked about his mum. "She's always wanted me to be happy. Especially after what happened with my father." His face darkened for a moment and in a blink it was gone. It was almost imaginary. "When I first talked about you, her face was the brightest I ever saw it. I'm sure she has been hoping for this for a while now. I just find it really funny and maybe a little cute that you got flushed just from thinking about me."

"Oh shush it you. How else am I supposed to feel?" Charles laughed, reaching out to grasp one of Erik's hands. It wasn't that hard since it seemed he was looking for his as well.

"I don't know. But I do know _I_ don't get all flustered when people mention your name."

"Uh huh. I'm sure you don't, darling. You probably go parading around talking about your amazing catch who didn't even know what the inside of his ring said until now."

"To be fair, _Liebe,_ you wouldn't have understood what it said anyways. You didn't speak German then, remember? Vaguely understood it even," Erik pointed out. "But that's beside the point. You said your mother knew. How did she take it?"

Charles grimaced a little but ultimately offered a small smile when Erik got worried with his silence. "She said she would have to have time to understand my choice, but that as long as I am happy she will learn to accept it."

"That's a good thing, right?"

Charles got on his tip toe and kissed Erik on the lips, laughing when he playfully nipped at him.

"Yes. It's a good thing. I was worried she would disown me or worse."

"I don't think there is anyone in the world who could do that to you, Charles. You're too likable for your own good. The world would shudder in guilt if they so much as frowned at you."

Charles swatted Erik's arm. "You're exaggerating. You'd be surprised how many people spared more than a frown in my direction."

"They are blind then."

"Erik," Charles whined, squeaking when Erik kissed him directly on the mouth before backing away. "You are such a scheming little-"

"We should get to the meeting, Häschen. The Rebellion is to start soon." Erik interrupted with a smirk. He gave a squeeze to his hand and Charles returned it twice the amount with a beaming smile, deciding to repay the favor later on. Today had more pressing matters than stealing kisses from under his nose.

"Are you ready?"

Erik didn't hesitate. "Yes. I've been ready for 2 years now."

"Then we best get on our way, hm?" Charles didn't let go of Erik's hand as they left the library. Sending a mental goodbye to all the books, authors, and knowledge he had been privileged to learn over that time.

Everyone was present when they got there. In fact, they seemed to be the last ones to arrive.

"Look around! _Les oiseaux d'amour_ have entered the room at last!" Adalie crowed and he heard a few cheers and a few groans as some people shuffled something or another to other smirking persons. Charles had the suspicions that there was a bet but he didn't care. This was their final meeting. The final chance to decide if tonight was going to be the night. The final… everything.

There was a look in Erik's eyes as he gave his speech, Emma translating where needed. It was passionate and was far different from the dark side Erik gave off – his Lehnsherr side. In fact, that side was practically non-existent. This was Erik's true self. The confidence. He felt like he could win this. That was what his aura spoke to Charles and no doubt to the rest of the room as well.

This wasn't the man that is a tyrannical leader who won't listen to anyone. This was the man who was certain that the fate he wanted to gain was the one he was going to get.

Emma stood up next to say some words. They were short, to the point, but confounding nevertheless.

He didn't realize after she sat down that all the eyes immediately turned to him.

They wanted _him_ to say something.

Standing nervously, he felt Erik grab his hand and give it a reassuring squeeze. _You can do this_ radiated through his thoughts.

Charles cleared his throat. "We have… I have… I am the newest addition to this family, to this rebellion. I am possibly the weakest," a few chuckles and shake of the head met this declaration. "The weakest. The least talented. And probably a little bit annoying from time to time, however, it was an honor to train with all of you, see your amazing abilities, get to know you, and to be a part of this act we plan to take today. Learn about your families in some ways." He looks to Adalie. "And be accepted and treasured as more than such," he looked to Erik. "I have faith that we will do well, but I don't want to get over confident and say we will win because who knows what's going to happen today? But if things go for the worse, it was an honor to fight in this rebellion with all of you and I hope you don't have any ill intentions or regrets for this sacrifice."

People cheered for him, and Erik looked two seconds from kissing him. Charles felt the anxiety of the speech drift off to a large smile.

Once the crew filtered out, a mixture of lively chatter and somber fear resting on their shoulders equally, Erik and Charles were left in the room.

Erik immediately kissed him and Charles let out a little, embarrassing squeak before returning the favor.

…

When they eventually left the room, the sun was down.

_It's time_ he thought quietly, like if he thought too loudly the world would hear and watch over them.

In a blink of an eye, everyone went into action. The plan was to get rid of the guards surrounding the gate. Considering gate was metal, after the guards that surround it were disposed of or at least dealt with, Erik would use his ability and break the door and they would be free. But only if all of the guards were dealt with and were not alerted. It was a tricky plan at its best but the best shot they had if any were to appear.

The first part went well.

Charles watched from a distance as Albert used his ability to send a few guards to the wall, another teammate using a type of force field like mutation to muffle any of the sound.

Meanwhile, Erik and Charles left with Adalie to the wall.

They knew the wall wasn't exactly what it looked like. It was taller. Meant to look less menacing for the sake of tempting mutants into exposing themselves. Erik wanted to turn it off somehow. Charles tried to get him to tell him why but the boy simply shook his head and stated that it would make it easier for whoever else followed in their footsteps should everyone not get out.

Gradually, Adalie and Erik got rid of the guards coasting the top of the wall, the part not disguised it seemed. Charles would make them stop with mental intervention long enough for either Erik to mess with their guns or for Adalie to make them fall completely through a blast to their legs or chest.

It seemed things were going well. In fact, they were going better than well.

No one necessarily had a clock of any kind on them, but Charles had a feeling this was a lot quicker than their strategic planning thought it would take. Even when it seemed Erik hadn't been able to get a good grip on the gun or Adalie wasn't accurate enough, someone else would come around and make sure they were taken care of.

It was almost too easy. Charles was beginning to get a bad feeling but he shook it off. He was just being paranoid. _What happened to that faith you had, Charles?_

Nevertheless, once all the guards that needed to be gone were dealt with, the concern came back. The wall didn't fall apart like Erik wanted.

There was something more to it. It was a little unnerving. What, or who, else could be in control of it?

They had no time to ponder it at the moment. It was almost the moment that Erik needed. The pinnacle of their Rebellion.

The other prisoners in this place were not even necessary. The guards were not that much of a hassle. It made Charles wonder again about how easy this was. Was it truly that easy? Or was it that they gave the guards more difficulty than they deserved? He hoped the latter.

Adalie was sent away to help the others, Emma joining them in her stead to figure out what happened.

"What's the matter? It's almost time. We don't have time to figure this out," Emma started.

"The wall isn't coming down," Erik said bluntly.

"So? We can't save everyone, Erik. Leave this to them. You're supposed to break the gate soon. We can't stay here." She was correct. Charles could see a few mutants began to wave them over.

Erik shook his head. "I… I feel that we are close. One more check."

Emma sighed and nodded. "Fine. One more time."

They follow the wall, tracing it for a little bit but seeing nothing out of the ordinary. It didn't even look any different. Not a glimmer of movement. In fact, it seemed sturdier now somehow.

It was so quick. So quick in how the mood just shifted from one setting to another.

The noise was the first thing. Shouts and screams as a threat unaccounted for came up. A few mental cracks in Charles's mind as the tabs he had in all of them slowly snipped and disappeared.

His heart sped up.

For a moment he looked through their minds. A few of them. Stephan from the distance. Albert and Adalie close up. Francis directly in front of one.

They were soldiers. Stronger than those they had dealt with before. They had different guns and something told Charles that Erik wouldn't be able to mess with those.

_No. No. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong._

Nobody was helping them. All of the others who were trapped here just stared on like it was a new moment of excitement for them to witness but not interfere with. They slowly created a perimeter around his friends, watching on in silence and quiet mumblings Charles could catch in their thoughts.

_This wasn't how it was supposed to go._

Charles didn't know when the turn shifted for them.

If you asked him, he would just shake his head.

But one moment he was staring at the wall, trying to find a chink in the armor, and the next thing, he turned to talk to Erik and tell him of the reinforcements at the square and he saw a man who was _not_ there before.

The man was relatively young but radiated power. Col eyes stared at the trio like they were a hunt for a kill. The piece he needed to finish a game of chess. It was uncomfortable. Charles didn't like it.

What he liked even less were the fact that behind him were a battalion of soldiers. The exact same soldiers clearing out his friends. The same rifles that shot a shiver of chill through his spine. The rifles were facing them. Death was facing them. Everything was facing them.

This wasn't calculated in the plan.

In an instant, in a blink of an eye, Charles can hear the rebellion behind him falter.

In a blink of an eye, everything comes crumbling down and falling to the ground.

And, in a blink of an eye, he sees Emma turn and give him a small cruel smile before walking to the man's side like she belonged there the entire time.

That was when it settled in. That was when Charles realized that they had been betrayed. That she was the Benedict Arnold of their revolution. That she was the reason this was not going to end well.

The man smiles as Erik curses Emma out and begins placing his full focus on the newcomer. Charles attempts to help by maybe distracting the man for a millisecond, but Emma must be blocking them because he can't get a single thought out of the man's head.

Erik hissed out a few things under his breath before pulling a few pieces, thinking a split second before flinging them at the man. Charles tried to mask them but the man saw through the plan and deflected them, one scratching Charles on his arm deep enough to bleed.

He bit his lip to keep the cry of pain from escaping. He wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw one of the other mutants. A girl that gave Charles a look, holding up a knife, before going invisible.

_Distract him, Charles. What are you waiting for? A command?_

Charles spoke up. "Who are you?"

"Unimportant," the man deflected. "Just a man who is coming to put this, what do you call it, _Rebellion_ to an end. With wonderful thanks to Emma here, of course."

A sliver of movement in the background. Charles held back the part of him that wanted to yell at Emma just barely. He didn't know what was keeping Erik quiet but he didn't want to turn away from the man for an instant. "We don't belong in cages. No one here does. We are fighting to get our deserved freedom back."

"Big words from a boy who looks like death could blow him over." Charles clenched his teeth.

"Truer words than whatever you could offer," he bit out, risking a glance at Erik, but the boy was focused on Emma who seemed to be content where she was.

That was, before she sent a shooting glare in the direction of the area behind the man and shouted at him to duck, a dust cloud forming between Charles and the man. There was a brief cough and maybe a curse from the nothing. Before she could get up, the man did a gesture with his hands and two men shot the invisible space.

They couldn't have known where they shot but it seemed like they did. It was too precise to be luck of the draw. One in the head and one in the chest.

The girl appeared before them, not moving.

Charles saw the knife in her hand become loose and didn't think before he rushed to grab it. He tried to make his movements unpredictable, thinking left but going right and such but Emma saw through him, sending a searing pain through his skull that stopped him in his tracks enough to bring him to his knees. The man walked up to him and looked down, raised brows.

"That was a nice show of bravery, but it was foolish. What did you hope to achieve with that?" Charles wheezed out a breath when a foot connected with his ribs, sending him to the ground with dust and dirt coating his face.

"Charles!" Erik shouted out, at last, making his way to him.

"No. Wait!" Charles tried to call out when he one of the man's soldiers (he shouldn't have been that fast. He really shouldn't have.) get behind Erik and bring down his rifle. It connected with Erik's head and Charles watched helplessly as he crumbled to the ground, hopefully not dead.

"Tie them up." The man ordered and Charles and Erik were bounded and sent to the square.

There were shouts going on all over as mutants seemed to notice their predicament. Whoever was left that was. He saw Albert and Adalie back to back as four of them ganged up on them.

When they both turned and saw Erik and him, Adalie seemed to glow as anger radiated with her. She muttered something to Albert and Albert shook his head, yelling something back at her. Something about it being a stupid move. She just laughed.

He wished she had listened to him.

They were pushed to the ground and Charles coughed at the new layer of dirt that brought.

"Hey! Get your hands off of him!" Adalie yelled out, sending a few blasts directly to the soldiers behind Charles. They were a direct hit and he heard them grunt as they collapsed to the ground. The rest tried to shoot her but she was quick and managed to slip by most of their bullets.

She was glowing. Her eyes seemed to be glowing. It was like she was a pure ball of energy.

And she was getting faster. Too fast to keep track of. It was like one second she was there and then in a shot of light, she was somewhere else.

Charles watched in pure surprise. He had watched her train for six months and this had never made a presence.

He could see what she was doing, though. Getting rid of as many soldiers and not caring for herself. It was a self-sacrificing move. A hope to redeem their current stance. Charles attempted to help but he was only able to focus if he had his fingers to his temple. It made it easier to be accurate.

But they were tied behind his back so he resulted to watching helplessly.

Adalie got rid of five more soldiers – a dent in their group of 30 it seemed. The shots kept getting fired and every so often Charles thought he saw them hit, but he couldn't be sure because she would keep moving.

But she was getting tired. Her movements sloppy.

Charles thought she knew this as well. At least, she seemed to when she shared a second long glance with him. There was a sad smile, a brief motion that looked like it tried to be a wave or a salute or something, before she charged at the man. The one who was the leader to this whole loss.

At the last second, before she made contact, Emma got in front, her entire skin turning to diamonds as she blocked Adalie, sending her a few feet back with the impact.

When Adalie got up, she was snarling. "You! You _salope. Je le savais depuis le début._ Something was wrong. You were the traitor."

Emma gave a strained smile. "All in good business, I assure you."

"All in good business?!" Adalie shrieked, rushing at Emma once again, sending punches and kicks to wherever she thought there was a weakness, but Emma hadn't been fighting. She was still full of stamina and she would switch her skin back and forth when she saw the blow coming. It was kitten play to her.

" _Vous nous a jeté aux loups!_ "

" _Au contraire, Adalie._ I'm simply leading the wolves to you. There didn't need to be any "throwing" to do that." Emma laughed as Adalie send a punch to her face, diamond eyes glinting cruelly.

" _Merde._ " Adalie huffed, shaking her fist where bruises seemed to be forming. " _Ferme ta gueule!_ "

A taunting smirk was all Charles saw as Emma spoke in mockery. "Language, Adalie. There are children present."

That was it. That was the straw. Charles watched as Adalie took a step back and began glowing. This time her eyes were definitely red. Red and almost demonic and Charles was almost actually terrified of his friend when he knew he shouldn't be. She was still his friend.

But he had never seen this side of her.

Emma herself looked uncertain but she kept her ground. "What's the matter, Adalie? Can't take bad news?"

" _Tu me gonfles._ Why can't you shut up?" She threw a punch and this one actually hit Emma quicker than she had to pull up her diamond shield. He saw her face snap to the left and something may have cracked but he wasn't sure. "Why won't you let me hit him? Can't you see what you're throwing away? We could finally get out of this place and you decide to do this!"

She sent a kick to the back of Emma's leg and Emma fell to the ground in a hiss of swears. Charles didn't know why the soldiers weren't shooting. Perhaps Emma told them in their minds to not do it. Perhaps the man made another gesture. It didn't matter.

"Why did I do this?" Emma hissed out, wincing as she got back up. "What do we have when we get out of here, hm? Family? A home? Any kind of stability?" She laughed humorlessly. "Don't make me laugh again. You know for a fact that once we ever got out of this place we would be in another hell. Another hell that would make us even weaker because if we tried to get help, _we would be tossed back in here. So why did I do this?_ "

Adalie was silent for once. Everyone seemed to be.

"Because at least with this, I would actually have a life. A trade off. This whole foolish plan for an actual chance at living. It seemed like a fair trade."

"And their deaths? All those you sacrificed-"

"Worth it," Emma bit out.

For a second, Adalie looked like she was going to go after Emma's throat with her own teeth, but before she could, there was a swipe of a finger behind Emma's back and someone shot Adalie directly where her heart should be.

She stumbled and fell to the floor. She was trying to breathe. Oh God, she was trying to _breathe_ and blood was being coughed up and Charles couldn't look away. He couldn't look away or shout or cry. He couldn't do _anything._

Emma walked over and stood above her. "I've been waiting to do that for a long time. I just wish I could have been the one to pull the trigger. Oh well. How do you say goodbye in French? _Au Revoir?_ " She wiped off a speak of blood that splattered on her cheek and walked back to the man's side.

Charles watched as Adalie fought for every breath and seemed to be choking on her own blood. At one point she turned on her side and faced him, trying to offer a smile but she was already going away. Her eyes were glazing over. Her hands were shaking. There was blood. There was simply too much blood and Charles couldn't do anything. He couldn't even _say_ anything from this distance.

_Charles._

Charles felt the static of her thought but clung to it. He couldn't send anything back. Not without focus and he did not have any of that at the moment.

_Don't look at me. Look at Erik. He's going to need you. Her thoughts phased out for three seconds – Charles counted in his mind – before coming back. You will get out. I know you will. And when you do, find Remy if you can. Tell him about me and what I did. Will you do that?_

He nodded and she finally stopped fighting against it. She let out a smile, the corners stained with crimson.

_Good. Merci beaucoup. Adieu, mon ami, mon frère, Charles._

And like the others, her thoughts disconnected from his with a quiet _snap._

Even though she told him not to look, he kept looking at her body. He kept looking at her eyes, hoping for a little bit of thought to peak through. Just a moment. Just a little bit of hope to assure him she wasn't gone.

But she was. She was and at least three-fourths of the Rebellion as well.

It sunk in faster than light.

The rebellion was over. It hadn't even lasted 30 minutes. They didn't get anyone to help their cause. If anything, all the other prisoners were giving them weird looks like them wanting freedom was a terrible thought.

The man speaks for the first time since Erik was knocked out. "Well, well, well. What do we have here? A bunch of miscreants trying to make leave with their abysmal beliefs, hm." He already made this speech. He had already made it to them directly. He was only saying this to make a statement. To rub their loss in their faces. "What are we going to do with you two? Because clearly, from what Emma has been telling me," He reaches out to touch her shoulder. "From what Emma has been telling me, you two are the sole reason that this is even happening. You are the sole reason that this issue became possible."

It wasn't an issue. That would mean this was wrong and this was _far from wrong._ This was the most justified act they could have done. They weren't meant to remain in this place. _No one_ was meant to remain in this place. Their escape was what they deserved and would have got if they hadn't been… if this hadn't happened.

"Therefore, we can't keep you here, clearly. But neither can we let you go. We keep you here, there is a good chance that there will be another one – another rebellion. We can't have that." There was a sigh like the decision was draining him. Like this was exhausting to him and _he wasn't even doing anything but looking pretty._ "But we cannot kill you either. You're useful. We can use what you two have."

_Well, am I lucky?_ "We have to teach you a lesson. At least one of you. If I teach one of you a lesson, then that will keep you both from teaming up and making things a reality once again."

In a snap of his fingers, Charles's mother is brought out, silent as always.

In a snap of his fingers, a gun is pointed to her head that was connected to the man's hand.

And that was when Charles's world crashes down around him except for who was directly next to him and who was directly in front of him.

…

_"By the all-powerful dispensations of Providence, I have been protected beyond all human probability and expectation; for I had four bullets through my coat, and two horses shot under me, yet escaped unhurt, altho' death was levelling my companions on every side." **\- Letter to John A. Washington, July 18, 1755**_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Translations:_
> 
> _Salope - Slut_
> 
> _Je le savais depuis le début. - I knew from the beginning._
> 
> _Vous nous a jeté aux loups! - You threw us to the wolves. (More or less)_
> 
> _Merde - Shit_
> 
> _Ferme ta gueule! - Shut your mouth. Though in this circumstance, it's more like she's trying to say "Shut the fuck up" I suppose._
> 
> _Tu me gonfles. - You're annoying me/bothering me/pissing me off. Around that._
> 
> _Welp. Next chapter! See you there._


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What is it that you want?" Charles yelled out, desperation tainting his voice from the same words screaming in his thoughts across every mind except for the one he was trying to reach. "I will give you anything, do anything, be anything if you just don't hurt it!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _A/N: So, fun fact, I wrote this chapter about 5 chapters before it should have been begun. It was kind of after this bachelorette party I went to and I was kind of stuck in bed because of being hungover so I just typed this all up on my phone. I wasn't sure if I would use it but it is clear that I am._
> 
> _God this chapter... It's really short. It's one of the shortest that I have written actually. That being said, it is also the most... well, I'll leave it for you guys to decide._
> 
> _Enjoy?_

Chapter 13

"What is it that you want?" Charles yelled out, desperation tainting his voice from the same words screaming in his thoughts across every mind except for the one he was trying to reach. "I will give you anything, do anything, be anything if you just don't hurt her!"

The man stood there, looking at him, the gun in his hand waiting for the pull of its master. But his master didn't pull it. Not just yet. _There was a method to his madness,_ as Shakespeare wrote once, and his was simplified to just looking at him. Those eyes were laughing, chuckling, and sneering at his words. Beside Charles, hands holding his unconscious form up by his arms, was Erik. He was okay, though. No deadly wounds which was as much of a relief as Charles dared to hope for.

Charles tried to ignore the dead bodies around him but he wasn't old enough, cold enough, _ready_ enough to take it in stride. Adalie's dead eyes looked at him from the ground, dead and lifeless, and Charles had to fight the faint sniffles that crouched in his throat waiting for the strike.

He heard a few others die off just from the sickening crunch of their final thoughts, their last scream, and breath. It was horrifying. This outcome was horrifying.

But not as much as the fact that his mum was at the hands of a man who knew of their mutations enough to block him.

_No,_ Charles had to remind himself, _he wasn't blocking him._ Charles' eyes slid to the side to a stoic, cold Emma Frost. The same damn girl who taught him his tricks of the trade. She was in better clothes now. Cleaner too. How had he not noticed before? When they were at the meeting? It should have set off alarms at least. 

It was useless. _I wonder who got her there,_ he thought bitterly.

"What are you willing to _not_ do, boy?"

Charles felt his mouth go dry as he watched the finger inch a little into to the trigger, attention focused on how his mum seemed to watch him carefully. She didn't look scared. She didn't look panicked or frightened at the death that was at her temple if he made so much as a quiver of the wrong movement.

Actually, she was telling him something, but his mind was too messed up to focus. Too scared. For him. For Erik. For his mum. For everyone.

_What am I not willing to do?_

"I said anything. I will do anything if you just spare her." He repeated, praying to a God he didn't believe in to thank for the lack of waver in his tone.

The man (who hadn't even given so much as a name so far) smirked. His gun was still up, but now his attention was turned to Erik. Charles didn't like this turn. He didn't like this at all. He wanted his gaze to go elsewhere. Anywhere but Erik who might as well be the most important person to him except for the one with the threatening bullet.

_Don't do it. Don't say it. Please don't don't don't-_

He cocked his head to Erik. "Kill him then. Do it by the time I count to five, and I will spare your mother's life." A snake curled at his mouth and venom was leaking with a sickening nausea reserved to a bad feeling or when you are looking death in the eye.

Was he?

It felt like it.

Either way, he would lose someone. Someone he cared for. How could he choose?

"Ein." One. _No. No no no. Give me a minute at least! Let me think this through. This is too fast. I can't think I can't think. How do you think through this? How am I to choose? Please-_

_"Zwei."_ Two. _I can't choose! How can you make me? How dare you?! I said I'd do anything and you are taking pleasure in this! How... How... I..._

_"Drei."_ Three. _Erik is who I love more than my own life but that is also my mum. The one who has actually been one to me more than my childhood! How can you take them from me? Can't you see? Have a damn heart!_

_"Vier."_

"Charles." That voice was a switch, and Charles found himself looking at Erik who had been previously knocked out. He was blinking blearily at him but he was definitely looking at him. Closely. Focused. Erik not Lehnsherr. Erik not Lehnsherr.

His thoughts were moving faster than his rapid heartbeat, racing like horses around an endless track with no finish line. Staying between those white lines so secured with the "what ifs," "whys" and "Pleases" that were punched through his words. He didn't know what to do. He didn't know what to think of Erik at this moment. Should he be happy he was alive? That would make sense! But then his mother is there and the man hasn't counted to five yet and I don't-

He wanted to laugh but it would have turned borderline hysterical. Erik's calm and pained expression was the only reason he was still sane.

_How can you look at me when I'm about to be a murderer, love? How? please tell me._

"Kill me."

Charles's eyes widened, and he felt tears prickle at his eyes.

Those should be words of relief, but they only made him want to sacrifice himself more if he could!

_Why isn't that an option?_

Right. Because he was useful.

"She's your mum. Do it. Easy as breathing. Focus on my mind and kill me. You can do it."

He shook his head slowly, tears rolling down continuously. "No…. No…."

"Yes, you can. Just a snap. Just a quick blink of the eye. You know I wouldn't blame you for it, Häschen."

Charles couldn't believe his ears. He couldn't even get close to Erik's mind would being burned by his own heart screaming at him to stay away.

_Then what am I to do?_

Wasn't this the longest second he had ever been in? It had to be. Longer than time. Longer than his life. Too short to make a damn decision.

He stared at Erik so long that when he turned to his mum again, he barely heard the final word before red painted the cobblestone.

He screamed. He knew he did. He must have.

But for the life of him, if he had he didn't hear a single sound.

Only the hard thump of her body hitting the floor, and the hiss of breath to his side met his ears. His heart beat like a hummingbird realizing that time moved too fast for its wings and it needed to pause, stop, and fall.

He felt warmness trickle down his cheeks. Warm something or another.

It couldn't be.

Dead eyes looked at him from the ground. They stared right at him. Directly into his soul and for some reason Charles had a feeling they might have tried to convey thought if it could.

But they couldn't. Cold, blue, lifeless eyes shared no thought. That required a mind and a thought process and that woman on the ground surely had neither.

That woman. His mother. His newly achieved mum.

It couldn't be, could it? Losing... Both parents in under a year. It couldn't be possible. Couldn't be true. He would... Blink or maybe pinch his arm and he would wake in a cold sweat with his hair sticking to his forehead. His father would be downstairs talking about Survival of the Fittest once again and his mum would be reading Dickens like she liked to do on cold winter mornings. He would be afraid and might get scolded as he jumped down the banister to make sure they were okay but it was worth it.

He pinched himself and waited.

And waited and waited.

When nothing happened, he looked away from his mum's corpse, blood leaking into the cracks of the stone, to Erik. His eyes felt dry but liquid still dripped sadly. His lips moved but his throat was scratchy from a noise he was deaf to. It was so sore. Sore like his heart trying to revive itself.

"This is a dream... Right? A... Silly little dream that I will wake up from surely?"

Erik looked at him, and Charles saw a part of him breaking, but he had no reason to look that way. He had his mum still. Edie was okay still. Why was he upset?

"This has to be a dream. It must be. But I keep pinching myself, and I won't wake up. Is something wrong? Am I doing something wrong?" and his arm, cold from the snow and chill, was growing numb and angry with a small red patch of skin where his fingers kept pinching repeatedly.

The courtyard was silent. The crowd who gathered to watch the rebellion in their acts were quiet as an empty breeze. The soldiers and their guns were pointed down, and Charles thought he might have seen an ounce of emotion in their eyes. Maybe he was projecting. It was hard to tell. He wasn't entirely sure what he was feeling himself. How could he project if he didn't have many emotions to call on himself?

A dream. _Ein Traum._

A dream this must be. This must be a dream. A dream this must be. This must be a dream. I will wake up. I must wake up. I have to wake up. _Why won't I wake up?_

When the voice he was waiting for finally spoke, it wasn't the words he wanted to hear. Not at all. "No, Charles." Erik's voice spoke solemnly, his eyes averted to look at Charles's mum. "No, this isn't a dream. Häschen. This is far from a dream, and I wish with all my cursed ambition and passion that I could make it closer just for you."

Charles felt the trickle turn into a tributary and then to a river. Salty tears twirled around his lips before dribbling down to his chin. The tears hung. They were desperate. But they fell. They always fell.

"It seems you are not able to do anything, or," The man standing next to his mum's body paused and offered a cold look. "You didn't care for your mother as much as you thought. Either or, you now have nothing to lose I suppose. Good."

"Mr. Shaw," Emma interrupted, taking a hesitant but strong step forward until she stood beside him. "With all due respect, there is still the matter of the boy who is his friend. Surely we can't let them both live. They could try again - and perhaps succeed."

The man, Shaw, caressed her cheek and Charles gained a barely noticeable glimpse of cruel satisfaction when she flinched under his hands. "My dear, if we keep both of them alive, then we have them both under my thumb. Threaten one and the other will do whatever. And vice versa. Checkmate."

"I see," Emma nodded and glanced at Charles and Erik, her eyes briefly lingering on his mum. Charles wanted to scream at her not to look at her. That she had no right. That it was her fault this went so badly. All her fault. She was a traitor.

But he said nothing and simply focused on the cold numbness of melted snow seeping into his trousers when he fell to his knees in the cold puddles, his knees groaning at the contact with the stone. The soldiers gun was still focused on him and Erik. Emma still had a small grasp on his mind and a huge one at Shaw's. There was little he could do.

And even if he did, Charles didn't know if he would have done something. He lacked the motivation. He lacked the… vigor to do such. Erik couldn't even do anything about the gun in Shaw's hand since it was apparently plastic much like the guns trained on them in the small perimeter.

It would have been futile.

They had lost. The queen was killed. The knights destroyed and the towers plundered. The rooks have given their lives with honor and the pawns played their part. The king was alone. The king was tired. The king was weary.

And, as the queen and king of the opposing side marched up, square by square, the king had lost.

….

_"You will lose someone you can't live without, and your heart will be badly broken, and the bad news is that you never completely get over the loss of your beloved. But this is also the good news. They live forever in your broken heart that doesn't seal back up. And you come through. It's like having a broken leg that never heals perfectly – that still hurts when the weather gets cold, but you learn to dance with the limp." **– Anne Lamott**_

…..

Years later after this occurred, Charles would hear that quote and laugh for a split second before sitting down and resting his face in his hands for a brief moment of weakness, the snow falling outside reminding him of the day the world turned upside down and he barely held on by a fingertip.

…

Today was not the day the quote would apply.

Hours later had Charles, Erik, and the remaining rebellion who were not killed in the attack bound with soldiers at their back. They dragged out Erik's mother from the room, and Erik looked five seconds from tearing into anyone who so much as touched her.

Charles didn't know what to feel as he eyed the blood slowly making its slow journey to him. He didn't want it to reach him. He didn't want her blood on his hands even though it was his fault.

What would this emotion be? Sad? Anguished? In enough pain that words couldn't begin to describe it?

He kept his eyes on the cold floor as they were led somewhere. Perhaps it was better not knowing. Apathy was the best medicine.

The soldiers and Shaw murmured around them about the remaining Rebellion members who were alive. There were only two. Emma didn't count. She never counted from the beginning. She was never a part of this Rebellion. Just a pretender.

From what he heard, Albert and Stephan survived, but he couldn't be happy about it.

Charles couldn't seem to grieve for the losses he faced. For their loss. For his friends' loss or how Erik's mother was being mistreated so badly. Or even how Erik was giving him a look that showed how much guilt he felt at that moment for not being able to do anything. It wasn't Erik's fault. He wasn't the one faced with the decision. He wasn't the one who offered it to begin with.

But no matter how much he tried, he couldn't make his voice say those words to him so he remained quiet.

He didn't know what he felt at that moment. Sadness? Grief? Guilt? He kept turning the list of emotions in his head hoping that eventually, they'll stop on one so he can go through it fully. So he could get through it and move on – though he couldn't begin to fathom how that would happen when her eyes would haunt him forever. Watching. Observing. Unblinking.

Maybe that was why he never grieved for his father long. He didn't have the image. He didn't know what his father looked like in the face of death or even after it came and passed. It didn't haunt him.

Well, he supposed it came back twice as hard now.

He felt like the whole world should be crashing around him. And maybe it was. He wouldn't know if it was after all. He was lost in his own little world. His own little mind palace where everything seemed shattered, but the grief wasn't what's killing him. He knew this inside him.

The grief wasn't what was controlling him, sadly.

He wished it was. It would be easier maybe.

Before, when his father died, he grieved surely. While his mother held him he cried. When he got to the ghetto he didn't have the liberty to cry much longer. He was distracted. This distraction was much needed. He needed that distraction to move on and not focus on how he lost his father in one night.

But… now he lost his mother. Who was going to comfort him now? Who was going to be there for him now? He lost both of his parents in under a year. He was an orphan. He didn't have his mother. He didn't have his father.

Then… it clicks.

_It is all your fault. This is all your fault._

It was his fault. This was his fault that she passed away. It was his fault that she wasn't around them anymore. He couldn't choose to save her life because he couldn't sacrifice either of the people he loved and while that shouldn't have been his fault. It wasn't his fault. It was a cruel decision given by the devil of a man but he felt like he should have made a choice for his mother.

_You should have made a choice. What kind of son are you?_

_Nobody's apparently, foolish orphan._

He blinked the tears that came anew from his eyes. It didn't help.

And then he remembered his mother's eyes. He remembers how she looked at him before the shot. He twisted them and he thought he knew what she was saying to him but he wasn't sure.

What was her message? What was she trying to say?

Were they saying "save me" or "sacrifice me?"

He didn't know and he didn't want to think about it too much because then he would go insane. He knew it.

_Insanity would be a reprieve, Charles. At least you wouldn't hurt anyone._

They are thrown into a vehicle with nothing but the clothing on their backs. No books on genetics. No books on anything. Probably no more books at all. For all their awful luck, he was allowed to sit next to Erik and his mum in the cart. Albert and the others were unconscious and tossed to the side. Charles didn't look for them. He didn't feel like moving.

But Erik resolutely tried, even though their hands were tied behind their back, to hold hands with Charles.

Charles… for all it was worth, didn't react. He felt warmth grasped his hand. He felt warmth intertwine with his fingers but he couldn't feel warmth any longer after that. His heart had frozen over. His heart felt cracked and shattered. And while he loved Erik dearly – there would be nothing that would take that away from him – he couldn't seem to find his way back to be the Charles that he had fallen in love with. He couldn't seem to forget how his mother looked in his eyes before she passed away. He couldn't seem to forget how Adalie talked to him the night before about the brother she wished to see eventually and then how her fiery eyes transitioned to lifeless orbs.

_Foolish._

He couldn't forget Emma's cruel smirk as she betrayed them.

_Blind._

There was a lot of things he couldn't forget about that day. It was in and because of that reason that his heart felt scarred. The only reason he clutched for Erik's hand at all was because he was the last piece, the final fragment to his heart that kept him _him._

And while it would take a long time, and while he couldn't even begin to focus on how his friend, his infatuation, was feeling, he felt…. He felt like he needed him there because if he didn't have that grounding sensation, that anchor that Erik's hands – he felt he would have laughed and wouldn't have stopped laughing until he was insane, broken, or dead.

It was a frightening thought. Or it felt like it should be frightening.

But it wasn't to him. He didn't think anything would frighten him anymore.

The king had lost. The queen was gone. The chess game was over.

And the Rebellion?

The Rebellion, his family, had sacrificed their lives for a result they didn't even achieve.

Charles didn't know what hurt more.

The failure his speech that tried to persuade otherwise… the failure that his speech promised the opposite of. Or the failure to keep those he found close to him safe and alive.

Both seemed to be equally painful.

…

_"Death doesn't discriminate_

_Between the sinners and the saints,_

_it takes and it takes and it takes_

_and we keep living anyway._

_We rise and we fall_

_and we break_

_and we make our mistakes._

_And if there's a reason I'm still alive_

_when everyone who loves me has died_

_I'm willing to wait for it_

_I'm willing to wait for it." **– Wait For It [Hamilton] (Lin-Manuel Miranda, Leslie Odem Jr.)**_

...

Part 1: End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _So. That's it for now. I will be going on a brief hiatus because college starts up next week and I want to fish out two new chapters for my other fic before then. I... will continue it. And yes. I did use a Hamilton lyric for the end because this song was on repeat this entire chapter._
> 
> _Fun fact: The second half of this chapter wasn't written when I finally got around to it. It was only half-written with how I was when I started it. The second half was narrated by myself when I was half-asleep. Every dialogue piece and thought were spoken and improvised from thought with little to no deviation considering that day I had smashed my fingers and could not write at all. Listening to it as I wrote it was very difficult needless to say._
> 
> _If you have talked to me on AO3, I may have hinted at what's going to happen from here on._
> 
> _I'll try to update soon once I get a schedule going for my classes and all. I don't work much net week so I can work on the chapters maybe but I won't post them for a while._
> 
> _But I am not quitting this story. By far. You will have to drag me away from my keyboard to do that to me._
> 
> _This entire first part was 153 pages in my word document. Total chapters and all._


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _A/N: *Quietly peaks around the corner with nervous laughter* Hey. So. I'm sorry for not updating in months. Um. Word of advice, never take 3 science classes at once? And work at the same time? It literally consumes your life and stresses you out hardcore. At least, it did for me. I just finished my last final Tuesday and I feel like I've been reborn haha... I'm going out of town in a few days to Detroit but I'm going to try to fish out a chapter or two and get back into rhythm with things. All I have in the summer is a summer internship and work so things should go smoother than the entire semester! :D_
> 
> _But yes. This is the start of the second part of It's A Harder Fight._
> 
> _I've had it in my giant 170 page document for weeks now but finally got around to editing it some. ^^" Much apologies for the lateness and how horrible it is. I woke up around midnight and just went straight to writing so who knows how it turned out. :')_
> 
> _Have a wonderful day! I'll try to update another chapter soon I promise!_

Chapter 13

**Part II: Some Things Are Worse Than Death**

…..

_"Doctor look into my eyes_

_I've been breathing air but there's no sign of life._

_Doctor the problem's in my chest_

_My heart feels cold as ice but it's anybody's guess._

_…_

_Well it's cold, cold, cold, cold inside_

_Darker in the day than the dead of night_

_Cold, cold, cold, cold inside_

_Doctor can you help me cause something don't feel right_

_Something don't feel right." – Cold Cold Cold (Cage the Elephant)_

…..

It was as if each prisoner, every person who had a life previously happier than present, had turned to stone on the rickety tracks that rattled with barely constrained breath. Carved from marble and chiseled to match the definition of utter and absolute mourning, nobody thought to move or so much as meet the downturned stares that would never be reciprocated. Tears were not necessary nor were the heavy words that hung in the air like a guillotine about their definition.

No, not their definition. About the subject matter. About the chisel that so meticulously yet with savage diligence carved in their own personal misery – each mark original to the individual person.

Charles secretly wondered if they were all thinking the same thing, _"Maybe if we don't talk about it, it won't become a certainty."_

He wished. He wished desperately so, but it simply could not be the case.

The only good thing about their situation – though whether "good" truly described it was another matter altogether – was that everyone's thoughts were blissfully and gratefully silent. No one was screaming and Charles was left to his own thoughts and feelings that were so compressed in one writhing ball of turmoil that he didn't know how to express it.

It made him wonder, yet again, if anyone else felt the same. Was this just him and what had happened or was he not alone?

As to which outcome was better, Charles didn't know and he didn't feel like he wanted to prod into the minds around him.

A part of this was due to a fear of what he would find.

Sadness deeper than his own?

The last messages and images of friends and family he didn't know?

Or worse: thoughts of death and committing to that final act.

It scared him.

To top it off, Erik and he didn't talk that much during the trip to wherever they were going.

And it wasn't for lack of trying on Erik's part. He truly was too good for Charles. He didn't once let go of his hand unless he fell asleep and his grip went lax. Even then, he seemed to hold on just barely, fingertips pressed lightly and yet with a contradictory heavy promise.

If things hadn't happened as they had, Charles might have found it cute – maybe a little endearing perhaps. He might have smiled quietly to himself and store the memory to a small part of his brain to never be touched by whatever may happen.

Even though things were as they were, the sad boy still found himself storing the precious memory.

Charles knew his fingers must be cramped or sore but, if they were, Erik didn't complain.

But that was because Erik was _steel._

He wasn't marble and chiseled stone like the rest of them. Still malleable. Still willing to change. Still expressing and showing that the world was weighing them down.

Metal made his countenance and his body. He didn't let his emotions shutter across his face and his spine was ramrod straight as he sat in the cart that must have banged the wall against it for days now. He was _strong_ and seemed to be able to hold his own world calmly.

Charles knew better himself, but it was still admirable.

Erik's mum was almost as quiet as Charles was. He didn't know why. Maybe she was also grieving for his mum.

_All your fault._

It would make sense. They were friends as well. Cleaning and teasing their children equally. Perhaps she was upset and wasn't up for conversation.

It was okay. He wasn't up for it either.

The vehicle they were in was certainly not a car of any sort. Charles knew that if he had paid attention he might have been able to note what they were thrown into, but he didn't really care at the time. He didn't care much now either, but nevertheless it was something that pressured his distant curiosity like a piece of red string just out of his reach.

Maybe it was a train? That would explain the constant rumble below him that shook the cart every so often.

He wondered why Erik hadn't done anything to it then. They were made of metal after all.

Then again, his mum was here. Perhaps that was why. He didn't want to risk her safety.

Charles wished he had been as thoughtful.

This place was cold. It was very cold. The wooden boards that surrounded them on every surface did little to keep them warm and there weren't even any windows for him to peek outside and wonder what might be their destination. He knew it was getting colder though. Wherever they were going was going to be colder than where they came from – probably both the people and the place. Charles tried not the think of it and focused on his fingers and toes, which had been numb for a while now. Each breath was visible in front of him and he shivered.

"Charles?"

He blinked and looked up from where he was staring. Edie met his gaze evenly though she looked small now. Small and concerned and not at all like she appeared at the ghetto before.

Charles felt like he needed to talk but words failed him. Edie seemed to understand and glanced wearily at her sleeping son before continuing. "Liebchen. It isn't good to hold things in. Talk. Please. You worry me." She paused and spared another look to her son. "You worry Erik. We don't like seeing you like this."

_You can't do anything right. It's not surprising that you still burden them._

"I." God, was that his voice now? That raspy, dying thing that twisted anxiously in his throat? It sounded so frail and weak compared to what he sounded before. He cleared his throat and continued. "I am sorry."

"No. No, please don't apologize. You did nothing wrong," she looked close to tears and he felt the voice in the back of his head scold him.

"But I did," he said quietly. He didn't intend to say it aloud nor for Edie to hear it, but it was clear from the slight wobble of her bottom lip that she had.

For a second he thought she might crawl towards him and try to hug him despite her bonds, but instead she spoke with complete conviction, "You tried to save her, Charles. It wasn't your fault. It was that awful man who caused your mother's death. You know this, liebchen."

He shook his head slowly, tears threatening to come back too easily. "I let my mother die."

"A man killed your mother. There was little you could have done."

"I should have-"

"Charles." But this wasn't her voice. This was the voice of a boy who was previously asleep. The voice who remained silent until now. "You do not know or even understand how much everyone grieves for your loss. Not only for what you went through because that's not the only loss. We lost you. We are _still_ losing you, and it's clear by the confusion on your face that you don't realize this. You are not alone in this. You know this as well as I do. Just because you seemed to have gone through the most hardship doesn't give you the opportunity to take all the weight and then sulk alone like a child."

He shouldn't take the words close to his heart. He really shouldn't. It was clear just from a glance that the worrying darkness in Erik's mind was making him like this, but still Charles couldn't easily ignore such words, either. It wasn't like him.

"Erik," his mother hissed out by Erik's hand was not in his anymore and the loss was beginning to settle in.

Charles stared at his friend and blinked slowly, processing what the boy said. "My parents have died." He met Erik's gaze evenly and thought he heard Edie call for him but it might have been his imagination. His parents always did tell him it was intense, that imagination of his. "My parents are dead. Both of them. What was left of my family is dead. Do you not realize we were the last of the Xaviers'? I have no grandparents nor cousins. My father died with a gun shot. My mother died from my faulty decision making. I'm the last of my family. I carry their legacy and their name. I don't think you understand anything, my friend. Not when you have your mother with you still."

"This is exactly what I am talking about. You are focusing on you and if you would just _open your mind a little-_ "

"Erik," Charles said softly, turning away from the boy to stare at the wall ahead of him. "Maybe I'm not making myself clear. My mother died what feels like hours ago. My mother who actually tried to be someone better. She died. She's dead. My father is, too, but I've been able to move on past it till now. I'm grieving. I'm mourning. Did you not mourn when your father died?" Erik said nothing but that was more than enough. "I thought so. Just… please, allow me these few hours to myself. I know you're not happy with how I am, and I truly am sorry about that, but you can't make me suddenly happy. I mean," he fought for words for a second. " _You_ clearly make my happy, but not the same level as what my mum had. Even you must get that. I'll try to be better by the time we get to wherever we are but you must have patience."

The words didn't hurt him. They didn't slash him. They didn't maim his heart. That would be ridiculous.

But they did push him away a little and, as Erik closed his eyes again with a resolute frown and a furrow of the brow, Charles began to wonder how far he would be set out. As far as his mum?

_No. You don't deserve to think of her._

As far as his father?

_You should have done something._

He realized he didn't know. He didn't know and it was a loss he didn't realize he had.

…..

When the vehicle stopped, it was quiet for a while. Too quiet to begin something of relevant comfort in the lapse of false safety, and too loud to begin to hope it to be possible.

Then shouts met his ears.

Shouts all in German and all angry. So angry. Like they were expressing the anger humanity had in their acts of mass imprisonment.

The doors were slammed open and everyone was forced off the train cart. Albert and Stephan went off towards the front, their heads down and shadows covering their eyes. Erik and his mum went towards the end along with Charles himself.

They were not cuffed. They were not tied by the wrists despite how throughout the ride they managed to untie them themselves. They were not butted in the back with the soldier's rifles. Just the order to march and move met their ears with a harshness that made Charles wince.

Yet the feeling of death and helplessness reeked around their bodies like its own set of metal diminution, keeping their heads focused on the ground they may never see again and away from reality that pulled at the chain links with eager anticipation.

More shouts were taken as the rest of those who were brought were tugged off the carts. They were organized into one mushed line of confused and desperate minds. Charles could hear all of them. Every single one of their words rang true in his head like a liberation mantra.

_Why are we here?_

_What did we do to deserve this?_

_This isn't fair._

And wasn't that the truth of it all. It wasn't fair. Not for any of them.

But what could they do now?

_Nothing. You tried to do something and see what happened? You couldn't even save your own mother._

As they were marched into the gates ahead of them, they were met with a sea of stern faces, set frowns and steely gazes that showed all their hatred for people they hardly knew. Charles kept to himself, at one point reaching out and grasping Edie's hand for comfort to which she squeezed hard.

Erik, after a minute, grabbed his other hand and his grip was as strong as the metal he could bend at will. A silent apology rang in his head for the briefest of moments. Charles didn't realize he needed that until that moment and as he lifted his face to look ahead of him and not at the ground trampled under their defeated feet, he felt tears sting at the corner of his eyes.

They continued to march. On and on they marched and Charles could begin to see the difference as they went further. Less soldiers, although there were still plenty, and more people who were already prisoners there.

It was easy to spot them. Most of them with shaved heads. All of them with striped pajama-like uniforms. Every single one with a face expressing the emotion every single one of the people arriving with Charles felt.

Eventually the line stopped and they were all forced into a single file line. This line moved more slowly.

When Charles peeked around Erik's back, he saw some people going to the right and some to the left. Were they sorting them? Why?

He didn't know and he heard no commands except for the soldiers yelling at them to move.

It wasn't until he was about ten people away from the front that he realized there was a singular man there. There was also someone behind him, but it was clear that this man was the one making the decision. He would just look at a person with the blankest face and then flick his wrist one way or another, the prisoner moved to said place.

There had to be a method but Charles couldn't place it.

Erik's mum was where he stalled. He looked like he was about to motion one way but the man behind him who had been quiet so long and out of the loop had suddenly stepped forward, murmured something into the man's ear, and then the man motioned the other way. Erik went with her.

When he looked at Charles, there was a look in his eyes. Curiosity. Charles reached out to the man's mind but he found it as blank as his expression. He narrowed his eyes. The man smiled.

He didn't like his smiles. It was menacing and threatened a history of pain. He was too clean. Too pristine. Too nice looking to actually be nice in this place.

The term _"looks can be deceiving"_ rang out so loudly it might as well be the man's definition.

He walked up and Charles stiffened, standing straight and holding his chin up like his father taught him to.

"Your name."

The man who had previously murmured into the deciders ear looked like he was about to walk up but the decider held up his hand.

"State your name. I will not repeat myself."

Every part of him was screaming with indignation that this man did not deserve his name. He was living a nice life in the midst of death and smiling like it was _okay._

Charles didn't want to tell him his name at all, but at the same time he knew that if he didn't things would not end well.

With a low mutter, he spoke. "Charles Xavier."

The man tilted his head. "Not a German native yet you look to understand me. Tell me, Charles, what is your talents?"

This was getting awkward. Everyone behind Charles were giving thoughts of confusion and Erik was screaming at Charles not to trust the man through his own mind but Charles kept his gaze stern.

"I must apologize, sir. I do not give information to those I do not know the name of myself. A common courtesy where I come from you must understand."

He quirked a brow. "I don't believe you are in the place to make demands, boy."

"I never said I was, sir. I just thought that a respectable man such as yourself would still lower yourself to something as moral as giving a name before proceeding for information."

A grin was beginning to form. He was pleased. Charles was confused. "Hm. Interesting. I like you, Charles." With that he took a step back and motioned for Charles to go with Erik and Edie. After a confused second, Charles walked over to their cluster, accepting Erik's hand when he gripped it hard.

"What did he want?" Erik muttered and Charles shook his head.

"I don't know."

The rest of the sorting went on and on until there were no one else in the line. Charles was finally able to make a distinction in the groups. It was obvious and there was a reason. There had to be a reason but Charles didn't know this place. He didn't know what they did here. He didn't want to know.

But one group was completely full of elderly, young children, frail women or those who were pregnant. The occasional lanky male was found but the rest were in his group.

And his group had the rest of them. Those who looked like they could work. That was probably the point.

"Take them to the showers," the man shouted and the other group was led away.

Showers? Charles was envious. He wanted a shower. He would love a shower. And they looked so happy, too. He could hear their happy chatter and see the excited faces.

The rest of them were led elsewhere but before Charles had taken two steps, a hand landed on his shoulder and he was forced to let go of Erik's hand.

Erik's response was immediate as he whipped around and glared at the person who had separated them. It was the man of before.

His nose looked a little crinkled at their holding hands but it easily fell into impassiveness with another deadly smile.

"I'm sorry for the intrusion," he wasn't. "But I was hoping to talk to you. I promise to return you to your… family later. In perfect condition." The last part was directed at Erik but Erik didn't look any less stiff.

Charles could feel the tension. Edie was beginning to look around for them and Charles didn't want to get them involved.

_Go, Erik. I promise I will be fine. He doesn't know about me. If things get bad, I will deal with it. Please don't risk your life when we've already lost so much, darling._

That seemed to shake Erik (or maybe he realized it wasn't smart to make a scene in front of such a dangerous man) and he thinned his lips, sighed and nodded before turning and catching up to his mother, turning back every so often.

A chuckle met his ears. It was sickeningly fond. "Quite the friend, hm?"

Charles nodded. He didn't like how the man hadn't retrieved his hand from his shoulder. He didn't like how he spoke to him like he knew him for years. He didn't like this man, but it was clear he was expecting a verbal response. "Yes. A very good friend. We've been through a lot together."

"I would imagine. Now, I want to talk to you for a minute or two if you would follow me." He said follow but Charles knew that even if he wanted to he wouldn't be able to turn around. The hand was an anchor to this fate.

They walked in uncomfortable silence for what felt like forever until they approached a vehicle. It was nicer than the other ones. Sleeker, too. The man opened the door and motioned for Charles to climb inside and his eyes hardened when he hesitated.

"Really, boy. If I wanted to do something to you, I truly would have and no one would know. As it has happened, I have taken a liking to you. Do not ruin that for yourself when you've just earned it."

_Duly noted_ Charles thought as he climbed into the vehicle, well aware of how his dirty self contrasted with the clean seats and nice smell. The man went to the seat up front and the doors were slammed shut, the driver immediately taking off to a destination Charles knew not of.

"You said your name was Charles Xavier. You wouldn't happen to be related to a Francis Xavier, wouldn't you? The name is quite popular around here and it doesn't hurt to harbor a little curiosity you must understand."

Visuals of his father came back to him. He could lie. He could but it wouldn't do any good if the man realized this later. He could get documents and then where would Charles be?

"Yes. He's my father. A nuclear scientist but he passed away a year ago."

"A pity. We could have used him still. Well, I suppose not everyone can keep to the side their meant to be on, can they?" the man hummed, tapping on the window. "Anyhow, everyone knows of how intelligent your father was, but not many know of the assets that have extended to you. Tell me. What do you excel in?"

"Can you be more specific?"

He waved his hand in a circular motion, a small tick in the jaw from where Charles could see. "Do you like science? History? Art? Or, God forbid, philosophy and English?"

"I like science, as did my father."

"Oh?" It was the correct answer. Charles felt he could breathe a little. "Well, in that case, what kind do you like?"

Charles shrugged and picked at the frays in his pants that have long begun to unravel. He really needed to stop before he had no pants to speak of. "I like biology and genetics. I know enough chemistry to get by though not enough for all the laws it has. I don't like physics too much, but I can talk about it. I'm poorly educated in anatomy. I know some psychiatry but that's not really a science."

"No, but it is important enough." The man seemed to be contemplating something. Charles reached out tentatively to see into his head, but all he saw was a blank mass of nothing. How could that be? If he was thinking, then Charles should be able to see _something._ If he looked into the driver's head he saw a family with a smiling wife and giggling daughter, but when he looked into the mysterious man's mind he saw nothing.

Either he was a mutant in his own right, like Emma in terms of ability, had someone protecting him or he truly wasn't thinking at all and just appeared as such.

"How could a boy like you be into something as advanced as genetics?" It was an innocent enough question. Children (Charles hated being called a child but he had to admit he wasn't quite an adult yet) typically thought of playing and getting past the basics of addition and photosynthesis rather than the genes that make up a person.

Nevertheless, he couldn't rat out the library. It was a sanctuary. It needed to remain as such for anyone else who found it. "I read a lot of books before I was taken to the Warsaw Ghetto, sir."

"Ah. Right. Your father must have educated you in that aspect then. Also, as much as I like the formalities coming from your accent, I must say that it will get tiring after a while. My name is Josef Mengele. I'm the doctor of this place if you would believe it."

Charles felt his eyes narrow. "I fail to see where this is going, sir."

"Dr. Mengele," he corrected.

"Dr. Mengele," Charles almost muttered. The name tasted like bleach or poison on his tongue. It made his lips curl in dismay. "Why are you talking to a boy like me of whom you have barely just met. It isn't logical. It isn't rational. It doesn't even make an ounce of sense in any definition of the word. While I suppose I should be honored to be the… site of your favoritism, I have to question why?"

"You talk quite a bit, don't you?" Mengele laughed. "Your questions are well-founded, nevertheless. The others are lifeless machines. They harbor nothing that interests me. They will work here. They will die here. They won't escape here until our leader makes his conclusion with completion." Charles's blood was dropping in temperature like hail in a storm. Down and down until he wanted to shiver from the doctor's words who seemed as far from the profession as possible. "That being said, when I saw you, I noticed something. There was a spark in your eye. A certain… blankness to them if you will. I looked at your face, into your eyes, and I saw death. Death and yet a thirst for something out of your reach, for a knowledge that seemed unattainable until the moment you came here. I saw a part of myself in you and because of that, I want you to become my apprentice. Work with me, Charles, and I will teach you everything I know and more than you can dream of. Perhaps you will even surpass me with your vast intellect already being present."

He was praising. Praising and complimenting to get Charles's approval and he didn't know if he wanted to cringe into the seats and wish for them to suck him in or take his chances and open the door to jump out of the vehicle. See if he could breathe for a second before he got shot.

But at the same time, Charles knew that he shouldn't let this chance get away from him. This was a chance to probably do something that could… benefit someone. He didn't care if it was him. He could die if it would give his cause of death worth meaning. At least, that was what he was trying to think.

It was hard to say yes but this could potentially make things better for Erik, Edie, Albert and everyone else he doesn't even know yet. He had to take it.

He wasn't going to throw away his shot to do something, even if it was in the present of a man with questionable morals that rivaled Erik's Lehnsherr personality.

"I accept. When will we begin?"

…

He was dropped off at a bunker that looked even worse than the conditions at the ghetto which was saying something.

The floors were covered in a layer of grime that Charles couldn't even begin to fathom. There were no bunks. No beds. Which, compared to the ghetto, wasn't that much different except the "cots" here were just bundles of hay wrapped in somewhat rectangular shapes by string. They looked hard and lumpy and the definition of uncomfortable.

Charles maneuvered himself around the thickened crowds in the room until he found Erik. Thank goodness he was one of the taller people here so it was easy to spot him.

Still, he almost felt a certain stillness claiming him like the marble that had marked him on the train cart. Everyone in the room, who previously were all different with their skin tones and hair and the emotions they festered in their thoughts, were suddenly strikingly familiar. The rich or the poor, the "attractive" and those who were making it by. They all looked the same and Charles felt like the odd person out.

Their heads were shaved to the scalp. No hair remained. None to speak of. Some were taking this terribly by crying and crawling into despair, while others just seemed to be in a state of shock and reluctant acceptance.

Erik nor his mum had hair anymore and, like everyone else, they were placed in the same striped uniforms the other prisoners had. Charles saw several backs of other people and noticed numbers.

Was this how they were going to be identified now? By number? Not by the names they had been graced from their parents and their lives?

Charles clutched the striped uniform in his arms that Dr. Mengele gave him before he left. It wasn't any different from theirs, but he would still stick out with how his hair remained. _"A small taste of my endless hospitality and the benefits you will sow staying by my side,"_ Dr. Mengele had said.

A small part of himself wanted to find shears or a knife somewhere and slice his locks off in retaliation.

But he couldn't. Dr. Mengele wouldn't like that in the slightest and Charles had to appeal to the man before he tried something so bold.

So, keeping a tab on Erik's thoughts to lead him to the boy, Charles mumbled apologies as he waded through the talkative and miserable crowd.

Grabbing ahold of his wrist, he felt Erik jerk and the whiplash in Charles's mind made him wince but he ignored it, sliding his hand down until he grasped his hand. Erik visibly relaxed and gave a squeeze.

It was too loud for conversation. Too loud to talk without yelling that is. Thankfully, Charles had a way to solve this dilemma.

_"Where's your mum?"_ He asked tentatively.

_She said she wanted to see what is available to us. I offered to go but she wanted me to stay here should you come back._ He paused and then added cautiously though Charles felt the underlying possessive tone in his friend's (when will that term change for him?) thoughts. _What happened with that man?_

_"He just wanted to talk to me. Knew my father. Talked of how smart he was and the loss his death brought."_ He sighed and pushed his hair out of his face that was beginning to stick awkwardly from the body heat in the room. _"He… wants me to work with him as his apprentice. A doctor assistant I guess."_

_I don't trust him._

_"I didn't say I did either. But I don't need you to trust him, darling. I already told him yes."_

The grip on his hand tightened. _Do I not get a say in this?_

He didn't like that tone. Charles didn't like that tone at all. It didn't sound like Erik. It was a lot like… someone claiming someone. Stern. Angry. Feeling wronged. Like Charles should have confided in him first and allowed Erik to make the decision which was not going to happen, thank you very much.

Charles continued cautiously in case Lensherr's personality was around the corner.

_"He didn't allow me much time to think it over, Erik. He wanted a yes or no right then and there. I couldn't ask him to let me sleep on it or ask my… boyfriend what he may think of it. Please understand this. I would have asked your opinion if I could have."_

The simmering anger subsided into exhaustion. _Fine, but please be careful, Haschen._

_"When am I not?"_

Charles meant it in a joking manner but it was very telling what Erik thought when he did respond.

He would be careful.

He had to be.

_Because your stupidity might be what turns the tide here. Even if those who get close to you die before they should._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _A/N: To sum up stuff: Charles isn't happy at all about his mum's death, Erik still has his "Lehnsherr" personality but it is slowly coming out more often with the stress of Auschwitz (times where Erik will treat Charles's pain like it's nothing will come more often needless to say), and Mengele is going to play a HUGE role this part. I've done a lot of research on the Angel of Death from reading books of those who helped him to the terrible experiments he's done. Let's just say things will be... not good._
> 
> _Oddly enough, the most pumped up song got me to write this. Sincerely me in Dear Evan Hanson? I love it. I love all the songs but I especially love that one. Okay, that's it haha. ^^_
> 
> _Bye! :)_


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _A/N: Welp. I said that if I had the time, I would update this fic as well. What do you know? I found the time! It's going to be torture going to Detroit without my laptop. I might have to write chapters on my phone which will bring back memories haha._
> 
> _This is a relatively short chapter, I admit, but it's more of a filler as to what Charles is going to be going through. Which is a lot. I might eventually write one chapter for Erik - just so you all will see what he thinks and sees and deals with - but that is up in the air._
> 
> _I can't believe I've updated so much in the past few days. It's kind of nice. I missed this. :)_
> 
> _"thoughts" are Charles._  
>  Regular italic thoughts are his bad conscious so to speak.  
> -thoughts- are Erik's. 
> 
> _Enjoy!_

Chapter 14

_Daily Herald_

_December 9th, 1941_

_**Britain and U.S. Hit Back Hard At Japs** _

_**This was the Pacific war situation at midnight:** _

_Britain attacked Jap invaders f Malaya by air and land. Transports were bombed and driven off. Troops heavily engaged parties which landed under warship's covering fire._

_RAF bombed Japs who invaded Thailand and were pushing south into Malaya. Austrailia stood as Japs attacked Nauru and Ocean Island to the north-east._

...

Charles wasn't sure what to make of Dr. Mengele.

He was eccentric. Well, maybe that was a weird word to use. It was more so the fact that he liked to push buttons, push limits, and then see how it affected the subject.

The thing was, he didn't like… testing on a few test tubes or some piece of metal – nothing nonliving and safe.

No, he liked real people. People who were living and breathing and still had a voice and a choice and… and he couldn't have chosen corpses. He couldn't have chosen some who had died and thus couldn't really be harmed by his experiments. _"Living experiments were the best. When the heart is still beating and everything is in its prime. That's when the results will be the best, Charles,"_ was what he said but Charles very much would have liked bad results if it allowed him to help these people.

A doctor he was but as Charles watched him stick a syringe straight into a man's heart, the man yelling out, convulsing and then ceasing his movements altogether, Charles started to wonder if a doctor was always good.

"Time."

"Oh-Nine-Thirty-Three, Dr. Mengele," Charles said, glancing at the clock in the office. He had only been in this place for a little over 2 hours now but he would have traded suffering with Erik and his mum in hard labor than participating in this… whatever it was.

He was still sore from sleeping on the cot from the night prior. It was as uncomfortable as it looked which was no surprise, but apparently, all the people in the room were not there for conversation sake because they were expected to fit into the space. Erik and his mum were pressed closely on either side of him as people tried to get a little space to themselves.

It helped combat the cold but that didn't make it likable or preferable if the mental complaints were anything to go by.

"Charles, pay attention."

"I'm sorry, Dr. Mengele. I should have been giving you my undivided attention. Will you please repeat what you said?" Thank goodness his parents drilled into him the proper way to speak to those of higher standards. He had a feeling that it was truly the only reason the doctor hadn't thrown him on the gurney himself.

The doctor's eyes narrowed for a moment but he looked back at the subject without further malice. "The subject died of cardiac arrest. Chloroform injection leads to death. Write that down in the notebook on the desk, Charles."

Charles did as told, watching as the doctor dragged out a rolling table with tools stained with dried blood. He felt like he was going to get sick and tried to look away but he couldn't. Instead, his hands went blindly searching for the journal as his eyes watched the metal gleam of a scalpel touch the recently deceased man.

The edge made contact with the sternum of the man's chest, slicing long and thickly across his chest diagonally to each shoulder. As elegantly as the previous incision, another mark was made down the length of the torso.

Blood pooled out instantly but Dr. Mengele was ready for it. Like it was just a small spill of milk, he cleaned it up quickly.

Charles, on the other hand, was not prepared for this. He couldn't handle this. He could handle death if it was clean, but not mutilation and cutting open someone.

It was too much for him.

_Weakling. You're weak. What happened to doing this for them? I suppose no one should depend on you, should they?_

His breathing came quicker and he thought he saw black on the edges.

_"Oh no. No no no."_

_See? What did I tell you? You're not strong enough for anything. Not to save your mother. Or your father. And surely not your lover and his mum. A disappointment you are. A disappointment you always will be._

_"I need Erik. Erik would be able to calm me down. Erik always knew what to do."_

He felt like his mind was taking its own tools of dissection and stabbing them directly into his thoughts. It was a miracle he wasn't curling in on himself but he knew that if the doctor looked his way, he would see how Charles was shaking. Hell, he could feel how he was shaking. Tremors wracked through him as he fought for vision and control that he somehow lost when his last living family died.

_-Charles?-_

Suddenly, everything seemed to freeze. The blacken edges seemed to pause in their endeavors to cause him to lose unconsciousness.

For a split second, he thought that he heard Erik's voice.

But that was impossible.

Erik wasn't here or there or anywhere. He wasn't within thinking distance and he wasn't right next to him and he just wasn't there. But that didn't make how he heard his thoughts and his voice so clearly. If was so clear, in fact, that Charles almost whipped his head to the side in expectation of seeing Erik right there with his typical concern and none of the recent attitude they had both acquired.

Still, he couldn't help but call out tentatively.

_"Erik?"_

He sent it out but all he heard was a faint echo in his head of his own voice searching for a comfort he desperately needed. Perhaps he was hearing things. Imagining things. He did have an active imagination (how many times he said this he had lost count by this point.) Maybe he just wished for his voice and his head, or probably his ability he didn't know, just... Created it as a defense mechanism.

That would make sense, wouldn't it?

Trying to find comfort in the smallest things. A survival mechanism! Definitely.

But that was dashed aside when the voice that was unmistakably Erik's came through once again.

_-Häschen what's wrong? Are you in danger? I heard you scream out my name. What is he doing to you?-_

That couldn't have been due to his imagination.

No matter how good his imagination was, it could never say Häschen like he did. With as much feeling and inflection and nature. In Erik's voice, the nickname once seen as a tease was almost as _Charles_ as his own name.

Despite the confusion about why and how he was talking to Erik, he found the sudden intrusion – no, that would mean he didn't want it. This was more of a pleasant welcoming – helping immensely. As if he was right next to him running his long fingers through Charles's hair or drawing pictures in his back. As if he was nudging Charles when he overthought silly things. The simple notions that were almost stupidly and sappily effective.

Slowly, with as much reluctance as predator backing away from its surely kill, the black dissolved and the voice along with it.

The breath came back soon enough though Charles didn't know when it had faltered in the first place.

Thankfully, it appeared that he didn't miss anything concerning Dr. Mengele. The man seemed to be intensely staring into the dissected torso of his recently deceased victim. He was mumbling things certainly but they were small and appeared to be meant for himself rather than for note-taking, which was fine with the boy.

As it was, Charles was grateful he didn't have to look in the torso himself. He didn't know if he would be able to handle it. He had never dissected anything. He had been taken from his private schooling before they thought of touching that kind of knowledge.

He gripped the notebook in his hands to keep them still as he tried to keep an eye on the doctor without watching his movements. It wasn't easy but if it would keep him from obtaining nightmares later, he could deal with it.

_-Charles? Are you okay?-_

Blinking, Charles hoped he didn't project the image in front of him to Erik. That… he hadn't the slightest clue how he would explain it. Not without appearing like a monster in the process. With all the blood, the medical tools, the almost maniacal way his supposed "mentor" was now ruining this poor man's body… what kind of sane person – maybe not even sane but a normal and morally-aspiring one – would willingly go along with this?

Charles apparently though the reassuring thought that he was doing this for the others kept him himself for the most part.

What does that make him? A… altruistic monster? An oxymoron in its own right.

Whatever he was, he already was one to himself. He didn't want Erik to see him that way, too.

_"Yes. I'm… fine. Perfect. Wonderful. The doctor is just a little odd, I guess."_

Even Erik's own thoughts seemed doubtful of his poorly crafted lie. _-Those were not the words of exclamation nor surprise. Those were fear. You and I both know that well. Please don't lie to me. What is going on?-_

Charles should have known better than to lie to his friend. If lying wasn't going to work, than… vaguely describing things in front of him might be better.

It was a half-truth. Not necessary lying… just keeping the important bits to himself!

_"He's… he's just really weird, Erik. I'm not sure he sees people as people. They are just animals or things to him I think. It's a little frightening. I don't know how I should be reacting or what I should say. I don't know if saying the wrong thing would put me on that table."_

He hadn't intended to say all of that, but he couldn't stop himself once the first sentence went past his thin barrier.

_-Why do you stay then? Just tell him you don't want to be around.-_

Was it really that easy though? Truly? Charles didn't think so. He didn't think he would be allowed to back out to fast when he had just seen what he had. The only way he would was if he was the subject himself.

Just look at the place he was in! It was insanity constructed to buildings and cruel techniques and even masquerading at people. It almost felt like there was a hanging death sentence over his head that would only be acted upon if he were to say "you know, maybe this isn't right for me, but thank you."

At least, that was what he felt.

Charles was about to relay these thoughts to Erik when he heard Dr. Mengele start talking again. Charles wasn't used to talking to one person physically and another mentally at the same time. As much as he loved Erik, if the boy wanted him alive, he would have to focus on the doctor instead.

Which he truly didn't want to, but choosing Dr. Mengele didn't necessary mean it was the preferred choice – just the better choice for his safety.

_"I'm sorry. I think Dr. Mengele needs me. I will see you later?"_

_-Of course. Please be safe, Häschen.-_ The response was immediate, edgy and was hinting at the questions he would have later. Erik wouldn't be himself without wanting to know everything, Charles's supposed.

Charles smiled despite himself, a small rueful little thing that made him wonder if safety was a possibility at all. Nevertheless, he pushed the small quirk away when he heard the context of Mengele's words.

"…perhaps you should be performing this. Learning a subject is best achieved through action, yes?"

He was still reeling at what had been said in his presence when Dr. Mengele's bloodied gloves lifted and he bent his little finger in the easily recognized "come here" motion.

Charles didn't want to see it. He didn't want to see it. He didn't-

It was repeated brokenly in his head as his feet shuffled forward with the same dreaded level of mourning when approaching a coffin of a person you never knew but somehow felt close to.

"You're a size small in gloves I'm certain. Put these on and I'll hand you the scalpel and-"

….

Erik sensed his difference immediately when he was dropped off at the front of the bunks. Charles didn't know how. He had mastered closing off his face the entire way there. To hide the horrors of seeing inside a man he had knowingly been a witness of murder to. Knowing that he held the scalpel. Knowing that he did the rest of the experiment and while Dr. Mengele was thoroughly impressed by Charles's precision – _That must have been inherited from his father Mengele loved to say_ – and professionalism the entire time.

In truth, Charles had been mortified when given the gloves and was plagued when he had been forced to verbally relate what he had seen and done to Dr. Mengele on the way back, the "good" doctor explaining the purpose for every single act with a twisted version that sent shivers down Charles's spine.

Charles's first reaction was to close off his face. Plaster a smile. Look like things were okay.

Everyone was already worried about him because of his mum's death (which had been his fault) and what might happen to him. He didn't need to add this to that. They should be thinking about themselves more than him.

Again, he should have known better.

The second he got off, he felt strong hands wrap around both of his shoulders as he was steered somewhere. When he decided to focus, he found Erik looking at him with concern and realized he was in an isolated corner of the bunker. Well, as isolated as one could be in a room with a lot of people.

Despite having eaten, Charles felt faint looking at all the people meagerly attempting conversation, knowing what had been done to that man could be done to any of them.

He wished he hadn't eaten.

"Charles?"

Blinking owlishly at Erik, Charles tried to bring a smile to his face. "Yes?"

"Stop that."

The smile hurt. "Stop what?"

Those blue eyes felt all-seeing. "Stop faking that smile that I know shouldn't be there."

"But… But what if I'm not faking?" Charles attempted to argue but it felt weak, even to his ears. "What if I am genuinely happy with my day? What if I'm smiling and _mean_ it?"

"Then I would have to wonder what the doctor had done to you to make you that way." Charles flinched. "I'm sorry, Häschen, but you told me yourself that you were worried about your safety. You simply cannot say that and then smile like it was just a silly thought."

"You are being suspicious."

"It is my right and I admit I am rather good at it. So, yes, I am suspicious. Now are you going to tell me why you look like you are a ghost barely living?"

Charles thought about it. He did. He thought about opening up to Erik and telling him all that happened with Mengele. But it was like admitting sins in a confessional for repent. And Erik wasn't a priest of any nature. He wouldn't be as forgiving certainly. Charles barely held any of it for himself.

No, he held none. What little had remained from his mum's death was used up with the experiment he took part in that day.

So instead he gently wrapped his hand around one of Erik's, removing it from his shoulder and squeezing it with as much painful reassurance as he could muster.

"Really. It's okay. I'm a little worried. That is all." He looked at their intertwined fingers briefly, images of blood and mutilated organs coming to the forefront of his mind like life flashes. When he looked up, he noticed a dark look clouding Erik's face.

He didn't have to read his mind to know that Erik was currently trying to figure out why Charles was acting the way he was.

As mysterious as his friend could be, sometimes he was an open book as well.

Chewing his lip for a second, he sighed and lifted his other hand to look Erik directly in his troubled eyes. "You're overthinking things, darling. Besides, you know me better than anyone else here and you're the only person I trust completely. If I am ever not okay, why would I not tell you first?"

That seemed to settle most of the doubt in Erik's mind as it shifted from the darkness tangling into his normal thoughts to it simmering back to its usual worrying depths.

"Okay," Erik sighed and stood, wincing at the action as he pulled Charles to his feet.

Smiling, Charles mentally counted his lucky stars and continued walking back to where Edie was but stopped when Erik pulled him back by their still conjoined hands. Confused, Erik smirked as he tilted Charles's face up and pulled him into a kiss.

It was brief and Charles wasn't even sure it was happening until Erik pulled away with a light chuckle under his breath.

Gradually, Charles's face got redder as words sputtered in both thought and verbally at Erik's direction. This only caused him to laugh harder as he pulled Charles back to where Edie seemed to be conversing with another lady.

Erik's smile made him forget for a little bit about what had happened to him and what might happen to him tomorrow.

It was a reprieve. Would he always be like that for as long as Charles took part in Dr. Mengele's treacherous acts?

He didn't know but he hoped so. That was all he dared to use.

Hope.

_But how long would that last, Charles?_


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _A/N: Last update before I leave for my trip. Maybe. I'm apparently going to Hell so this should be interesting._
> 
> _Anyways, enjoy? It has awful grammar since editing was practically nonexistent. Much apologies._
> 
> _Have a wonderful day and a even more splendid week! I shall update when I return I hope. :)_

Chapter 15

...

_The Daily Herald_

_August 30, 1945_

_**Dr. Mengele "Angel of Death"...** _

_Dr. Joseph Mengele nicknamed the angel of death during the holocaust in the concentration camps. He tortured men, women and children and performed horrific medical experiments without anesthesia. Victims were put into pressure chambers, gassed, tested with drugs, castrated and frozen to death. At Auschwitz he did a number of experiments on children, especially twins. He injected drugs into their eyes to see if they would change colors, stitched twins together, and removed organs. He was also chief provider of the gas chamber and crematoria..._

...

The next day Charles was a witness to a confused man being thrown into a pressure chamber. The results left him unconscious and he died soon after.

The day after that, a woman was killed by being frozen completely before being tossed in warmer water. The change in temperature caused her to go into shock and death was immediate.

Castration. Drugged. Chemical injections. Limit testers. All of them were tests to see the limits of healthy individuals – mostly for some military agenda. If Charles had been a carefree boy, as he once had been he was sure, he might have hoped that these experiments were at least being done for some good of humanity – as a research conquest to know what they can and cannot stand.

But he wasn't that naïve. He knew this was for the personal excitement, amusement and sickening pleasure of Dr. Mengele, who should be stripped of his "doctor" title in favor of something more appropriate. Like murderer, savage or a complete and utter monster.

A couple of times he heard other prisoners and even his own victims murmur in shock and conspiracy, "The Angel of Death." It was rather fitting and Charles found himself quietly referring him as that every now and then when he wondered exactly how the man could calmly do all of this without losing his mind.

His mind which was still painfully and confusingly blank.

No matter how hard Charles delved into the man's mind, he never saw an ounce of thought or memory in those depths. It was like he never thought at all. It was like he was just a vessel.

It was quite frightening but he kept this to himself.

Every day when Erik and his mum would leave for another terrible day of exhausting hard labor mixed in with the freezing conditions and little to no care for their survival, Charles was picked up by the same driver and taken to meet Dr. Mengele in his office.

Over time, he had grown to know the driver. He found out that he was also interesting to Mengele and that he was also given special privileges because of it. He also found out that he hated being who he was because he felt everyone should be treated equally and humanely. His wife and daughter had managed to escape before he had, but he was hoping one day to reunite with them.

This fact made Charles flinch when he was first told, Adalie's face coming to the front of her mind. Both when she confessed she wanted to reunite with her brother and then the aftermath as she died in front of him.

If the driver saw him cry that ride, he never mentioned it.

Despite that one day, Charles found the car ride and the driver's talks to be a nice change of scenery when he was drifting from the almost possessive tense atmosphere with Erik to the nightmare-inducing experiments with Dr. Mengele. It kept his head straight.

Two weeks passed by like this and Charles couldn't lie that it was taking its toll on him. He knew there were dark circles under his eyes from the countless nights he woke up in a cold sweat and a scream wanting to crawl out of his throat. Sometimes Erik would wake up and help calm him down, asking what it was about and, of course, asking if it was about Dr. Mengele, but Charles would just shake his head and just say it was his mum.

Other times Charles would just stare at the ceiling, breath rising rapidly and thoughts wondering in exhausted delirium if he could just make a run for the Allies and have them help because he wasn't sure if he was cut out for it.

What was worse was that Charles was getting used to seeing the dead victims, the dying men and women and the living fear that coursed through them before. He was used to it and only blinked at Dr. Mengele's cruel methods. It was more like he was a completely different person entirely than the boy who first arrived with a borderline panic attack coursing through his veins.

Dr. Mengele was ecstatic when he found out about this and clapped his hands with a beaming expression of pride. "This is why I chose you, Charles. We are alike, you and I. Your father would be rather proud of you I would think."

But would he? Charles didn't think so. His father was a scientist but he wasn't a murderer and he didn't condone human tests ever, always grumbling under his breath when he caught wind of them in the past.

But Charles simply nodded and continued writing his notes, disregarding the blood on his gloves that had yet to dry as he held the pen.

….

_"Though this be madness,_

_yet there is a method in't." **\- Hamlet (Shakespeare)**_

...

The day things changed was the day that he walked into the lab, gloves on and a mask secured on his face, and saw a man on the bench that was changing his skin constantly under the strain of the restraints.

Charles had to blink for a moment and take in the mutant he was seeing with his own eyes. Because of the experiments, his nightmares and the focus he had tried to maintain on helping those around him, he forgot about looking for other mutants that might help. It just never crossed his mind. He was still reeling over how many were lost with the Rebellion.

Maybe the trauma had made him ignorant. Made him think that there were no more.

Yet, here another one was. Here he was ready to be tested on.

Dr. Mengele looked absolutely thrilled. No, he didn't just look it, he was speaking a mile per minute with the most pleased grin as he talked on and on about his "new discovery." It was Christmas for the man. This was the best present ever and he undoubtedly was going to abuse it to the best of his power.

Forcing his legs to work, Charles walked over to stand next to the doctor, avoiding the gaze of the mutant.

"Look at this, Charles! His skin is _changing colors_ and not only that. It's been changing texture and trying to morph but it seems to be too weak to go through it completely. Shaw brought it to me this morning. Apparently, it had been trying to escape. Well, lucky for us – not for it – we get to see what makes him act the way it does. Are you as excited as I am?"

 _But he isn't an it! He's an actual person like the others._ Charles wanted to say immediately but clamped down on his words. He had been slowly growing more to Dr. Mengele's good side. Suddenly rebelling at this time of all times would not be good.

_When had he grown so meek?_

So, Charles just nodded and walked over to the desk and claimed the journal he had been recording Dr. Mengele's notes into. The pen, which was thankfully cleaned every night, felt heavier in his hands today.

"No, I don't think that will be necessary, Charles. I want you to take part in this experiment."

The date he had been beginning to write on top suddenly paused mid-stroke as Charles heard this.

It was starting to feel a lot like the first day he arrived.

"What is today's experiment, if I may ask?" he finished the date and closed the journal, placing it back on the desk with the pen on top. His gloves felt as if they were suffocating his hands and cutting off all blood flow. They were so cold. His hands felt like ice.

Dr. Mengele hummed. "He seems to change from adapting to whatever has been done to him or is acted upon him so we will start with the typical. I'll do this part since it requires precision. Please hand me a syringe."

 _So, we are starting with the chloroform?_ Charles grabbed a needle and handed it to the doctor, watching as little time was spent before Dr. Mengele stabbed it straight into his heart.

If it wasn't for the fact that this was a monstrous act against humanity, Charles might have been fascinated by the results. He didn't die immediately like the others. Instead, he fought against the restraints, his body changing its composition he was almost certain. Gradually, he saw the color change shift back to a pale and sweat-soaked man gasping for breath.

The beads of sweat on his skin were discolored. Could this be the chloroform? Had he pushed it back out?

_No. Charles. Don't sound interested. This is practically murder. Remember that your father wouldn't want this._

He shook his head to get rid of the interested. Without needing to be told, he quickly wrote down the results and returned to the doctor's side.

He looked deranged with happiness. "Amazing! Oh, this is absolutely glorious. I love this. Did you see what happened? He completely changed what his body reacted. He survived. Next experiment. We are going to be testing his reaction to pressure. Go inform the others to start the pressure chamber, Charles."

For a split second, all Charles could do was stare at the mutant in front of him who was fighting for breath like it would be his last. It made his heart clutch, his insides squirm and his head hurt with a pain he knew mirrored the man. He _felt_ his pain and it wasn't… it wasn't okay. It was far from okay.

"Charles. Did you hear me?"

Like being shocked, Charles nodded and scurried off to inform the other scientists to start the pressure chamber. Most of them were also prisoners like him, but their heads were bald and it was clear they were not given the same common courtesy as he had been given. It wasn't fair but he couldn't do much about it.

Somehow, they all understood this and still treated him nicely. He didn't know if he deserved it when considering the company – Dr. Mengele – he kept around.

He stood by as the man – who, with gentle prodding in his mind, released his name to be Adam Fink; not that it made the experiments done to him any easier to accept – was shoved into the pressure chamber. A few of the stronger prisoners came in and strapped him into the harness they had up. As soon as they left the chamber, the door was slammed shut and locked in place. Mengele motioned for Charles to follow him to the controls.

Handing the notebook to Charles, he showed him the buttons that gradually raised the simulated rise in altitude. As expected, the almost nonexistent noise in the chamber rose to the man groaning loudly. He never screamed like the others though. Charles thought he might be close but even when it curled around his throat, the man would seemingly take a deep breath and then go back to a low moan.

Mengele was getting more excited as they started to reach the max level the chamber could be set at. It was easy to see with how his eyes would jump from the controls to the chamber, almost like he was itching to abandon them to Charles and rush over to the window to watch the change himself.

When they reached the max, the kept it there for a solid minute before they shut down the chamber.

Whispers were being said quietly in both mind and verbally around him as Mengele approached the chamber expectantly. Two of the other assistants slowly unlocked the chamber and opened it.

Charles inched closer to peer at the mutant. He didn't know why. To say he was sorry? To tell him things will be better soon? What even was the definition of better in this place?

Death?

Hanging limply from the harness, chest rising and falling so rapidly it was almost like he was constantly and forever out of breath, Adam remained. His skin was so ruddy it was almost like the red blood cells in him had decided to make them his skin instead. His whole body was changed leaving his arms and legs so thin they looked breakable. His chest and head remained the same but it must have been a survival tactic to keep his organs running.

His nose was bleeding thickly and there were drops of blood from both corners of his eyes and out of his left ear, but otherwise, he was alive.

"Amazing." Was all Dr. Mengele said before directing the others to bring him back to the gurney. They would wait for his body to return to normal before the next test. Charles dutifully wrote what he noted of Adam, though he fought hard to keep from writing it wasn't moral and that it was absolutely monstrous what was done to him.

Adam was taken through all kinds of tests, ranging from heat to cold to outright poison in some cases. At first, Dr. Mengele waited for him to return to his control state, but that swiftly went out the window when his eagerness to see the limits of his new experiment caught up with him.

The mutant's body had very little time to adjust from one extreme to the other but it still did nevertheless.

When it was well into the evening, Dr. Mengele was staring at the victim with a sort of awe-inspiring look. It was weird and Charles kept his distance. If he had that kind of fascination for someone like Adam, what would he do to Charles? To Erik?

Then he clapped his hands. "Right. Last experiment and we will call it a night, Charles. This is going splendidly I think. A wonderful discovery! I'm sure you are so glad to be a part of it as I am." He gave a content sigh before continuing, "We are performing a new experiment."

Charles didn't like the sound of that. "A new experiment, Dr. Mengele?"

"Yes. We know that he can adapt very well to any extremes of temperature and environmental conditions as well as anything being injected into his body. The thing is, can his body rejuvenate? That is to say, if we were to, ah, slice his neck or stab his heart, would he be able to survive that as well?"

Charles waited for the doctor to act out his experiment but instead, he held out the scalpel to Charles instead.

"I want you to do this, Charles. You need to get used to it, after all."

 _No I don't. I truly don't. Why should I get used to this? Why don't you do this?_ Screamed his thoughts but he nevertheless walked quietly to the side of Mengele and took the scalpel. It felt like a heavyweight that would drag him to the lowest pits of hell.

"What will I do?"

The doctor hummed in thought before slowly dragging his finger across Adam's neck, just below his Adam's apple. "I want you to slice here, Charles. Not too deep, please. We want him to slowly bleed out as to give him enough time to adapt should he survive this."

It was a sudden thing.

The same immediate reaction that had been happening to Charles as it always had in these situations.

He never knew when it started, but it was definitely there and very present.

Every time he was told to mutilate someone, to attack someone or to… to end their life, he could feel his consciousness slip to the back of his mind. It was like he was watching someone else do it. Someone without emotions. Someone without morality. Someone who wouldn't be traumatized by this. He didn't know what it was but it scared him.

He was barely aware of it. Barely aware it existed. He couldn't control this side of him. It was just… there.

Watching from the back of his mind, he noticed that his hands were no longer shaking. They approached the thin neck of Adam and slowly, almost methodically, they slid the scalpel across where Mengele directed. Blood began to pearl outside the cut immediately and slowly pool enough to slide down his neck in tiny rivulets.

He placed the scalpel down and looked up at Dr. Mengele expectantly, finally resurfacing from his spot in his mind. He couldn't look at Adam but the red was beginning to attract his attention.

The doctor was watching him with a sort of pride. "I've noticed something, Charles."

Charles blinked and a part of him was itching with the unwanted attention. "Really?"

"Oh, yes. You must know that I am not as blind as I appear. I do know you don't like doing these things. It's okay. It will grow to you I'm certain. Especially with me teaching you, but that is not the focus. You… when you do what I tell you to, you completely become someone else, I've noticed."

 _Someone else?_ Dr. Mengele had noticed, too?

As they waited for Adam to either react or die, Dr. Mengele continued. "Your eyes go dead with emotion. Your hands steady to a point of absolute precision and you have little to no qualms to what you do – no matter if it may seem monstrous or not. It's rather interesting I think, the disassociation you have. I'm rather envious in fact."

"Disassociation?"

He waved his hands in the air as he tried to describe it, his eyes never leaving his spot on Adam's neck that continued to bleed with no stopping. "In my research and studies, I have learned of this mental disorder." The word rang oddly in Charles's skull. _A mental disorder? Him?_ "Dissociative Identity Disorder. It's a severe condition when another personality – or even several – take control of an individual. It comes from traumatic experiences, and from what I've heard, you've gone through plenty."

Charles was quiet but his thoughts were far from it.

Another personality? Surely not. If that was the case, he wouldn't be aware of it, right?

Adam's chest was gradually slowing down. "Now, I don't think you suffer from this. At least, not to the extent the disorder calls for, though I can't see inside your skull, Charles. I would never know." He hummed in minor disappointment when they began to notice the light leaving Adam's eyes. "But I do believe you harbor some sort of disassociation depending on if you are merely observing or acting."

When it was clear that Adam had passed away, Charles wrote down the time and the results of the experiment all the while listening to Dr. Mengele. "The question is, do you realize it?"

Charles's hands stopped moving for a second before finishing his notes and closing the journal. "If I were to become someone else, I suppose I wouldn't really know either, wouldn't I?"

"Yes. Yes. There is some truth in that. A part of me would love to peer into that mind of yours, Charles. Dissect it and see how your brain ticks. Alas," he sighed and spared a small smile. "You're my student, not my test subject. Should I ever falter in my duties, I expect you to continue for me. I can't exactly test on my successor, now can I?"

Taking a syringe, Dr. Mengele plunged it into the median cubital vein. Charles was confused when the doctor extracted blood from the recently deceased man.

As if sensing the confusion, the doctor answered the boy's unsaid question. "We will look at this tomorrow. I don't believe Shaw will grant me another one of these… oddities for a while unless they try to escape again. I think it would be rather interesting to see what makes this thing so adaptive, yes?"

Charles nodded mutely and took the meal handed to him like every other time he finished his work with Dr. Mengele. As he finished his food, the doctor talked animatedly about finding more things like it. Adam was always referred as an it. He was never a person to the doctor.

It hurt in a way.

The meal was filled with scientific theories from Dr. Mengele. All about Adam. All wondering how he got his abilities. If they were hereditary or forced upon him. If they could be given to someone else. So many questions that Charles was growing slowly uncomfortable and lost his appetite. The fact of disassociation was still heavy on his mind. Hearing the experiments being repeated to him only added onto the weight.

When he was picked up by the driver, the man peered at him for a moment. "You okay?"

Charles shrugged and sank into the seats. "I don't know. It was a weird day."

The driver nodded and started the vehicle. "The doctor is always weird. He's not normal. I'm surprised that a kid like you follows him. He's not right for you. Unhealthy."

"I know," Charles said quietly, closing his eyes and hugging his sides.

And boy did he know. He knew all too well.

_Disassociation?_

It was… impossible. Surely it should be, right?

Funny how this thought bombarded him more than the fact that he killed a mutant only an hour ago.

…..

_"We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful what we pretend to be." **\- Mother Night (Kurt Vonnegut).**_

...

When the car stopped, he was surprised to see Edie meeting him instead of Erik. The thought might have either made Charles smile or break down, except on closer inspection she looked close to tears. Not only that, she looked outright distraught.

Saying bye to the driver, Charles rushed over to her and grabbed her hands in his, "What's the matter? Did something happen? Is- Is Erik okay?"

She seemed at a loss for words for a second, tears flowing freely. In the background, he saw Albert – a shocking surprise considering how he hadn't seen him in forever – come closer. He was snapping his fingers anxiously, sparks popping here and there. It was a bold move on his part in this place but Charles didn't think he knew he was doing it.

_Not important, Charles. This isn't important!_

Right. He scolded his deviating mind and tried to coax words out of Edie's lips.

"Edie? What is happening?"

But it was to no avail. She opened her mouth and shut it, shaking her head. Thinning his lips, Charles released one of her hands and brought his fingers up to her temples and closed his eyes. Looks like Albert wasn't the only one doing bold moves today.

It was as if a floodgate had been opened.

Her thoughts were pouring out so fast. He had to concentrate to not my swept away with them.

_Erik's in trouble. Erik. He. He isn't himself. I don't know what I did but I said something and he snapped and I don't know what I said wrong. He yelled at me and he has never done that. My boy would never do that to me. I don't know what is wrong but when a boy tried to call him out for yelling at me he turned his anger on the boy and they are fighting and I don't want my boy to get hurt. Please. Help him. Help him please please help him. I don't know what to do._

Releasing his fingers from her temple, he tried to calm his beating heart and offered Edie a smile he hoped was reassuring. He squeezed her hands. "I'll take care of it. I promise."

Albert reached Edie's side and steered her back to the building. Charles hoped he would keep an eye on her and not let her get close to the fight because he wasn't quite sure what he would do. He said he would take care of it, but how he was going to do this he had no clue.

All he knew was that Erik yelling at his own mum was definitely not like him. Erik loved his mum. He adored her and would risk his own life for hers. But Lehnsherr he wasn't so sure and Charles was almost positive that this was the personality coursing through him.

How he was brought out was the burning question.

It was always by an event Erik disliked heavily. Or by stress. Or general trauma. These things tended to bring out the Lehnsherr personality, but for the life of him – and from what Edie and said and shown – Charles couldn't see how any of these possibilities occurred.

Stress from the hard labor? Charles hadn't missed how skinny his friend was growing in their striped uniforms. Almost worse than himself, in fact. It was frightening. To top it off he was always sore, always wincing and always bruised in some place or manner. It was hard to watch and harder to come to terms with.

Maybe he just… snapped?

Wading through the crowds surrounding what he was certain was the impending fight, Charles fought to make his way to the front. People kept pushing him or trying to hold him back, but he ignored them. He had to get to Erik.

He had to stop Lehnsherr before any permanent damage was made. Erik would never forgive himself if his mum took what he said to heart. Charles didn't want to see him that way.

Lehnsherr was alarmingly calm where he stood. His face looked shadowed. His fingers were still, too still to be nervous about a fight. It was calculative. Those eyes were dark and the frown on his face looked like it would forever be carved there. A phantom pain on Charles's wrist from back at the ghetto came back when he remembered dealing with Lehnsherr. He still hadn't found a fool-proof method.

But he had to do something.

"What? Since you couldn't continue taking your anger out on your mother, you choose to perform it on me? Good luck with that." There was a smirk on the boy's face.

Charles wanted to tell to the boy to be quiet. He had no clue who he was dealing with. This wasn't the boy who just brushed aside most taunts like it was nothing. This was a more dangerous man.

Dr. Mengele's words came back to him.

_Dissociative Identity Disorder. It's a severe condition when another personality – or even several – take control of an individual. It comes from traumatic experiences…_

While Charles was still skeptical in him having this, he couldn't help but find the definition to fit his friend with painful accuracy. After all, Erik never seemed to be aware of his Lehnsherr personality. It was just a switch.

Which still didn't help Charles whatsoever as he watched his friend from the sidelines, frantically grasping at straws so he could try and stop this.

But his mind was stressed. It was stressed and tired from the experiments to Dr. Mengele's observation and now Lehnsherr's untimely appearance. It was almost too much on his mind.

Erik didn't say a word and simply moved forward.

The boy's smirk gradually fell and changed into a scowl. "What? Are you not going to talk? You were all words before but now it's a fight you want? Fine."

Rushing forward, the boy barreled into Erik's chest and pushed him to the ground. Erik growled and their fight began. It was getting loud. Noticeably loud. So loud that Charles was certain that soldiers would be alerted quickly. He was afraid what would happen if Erik was caught. He wasn't sure what severity allowed Shaw to send people to Dr. Mengele but he didn't want to find out first-hand.

Taking a step out of the surrounding circle, Charles walked forward and tried to separate the two. At the same time, he tried to call for Erik mentally, sending images of good times and nicknames and countless "I love yous" to distract him. It had little effect.

Charles didn't know what to do. People around him were shouting at him to stay away. To let them fight it out. But Charles couldn't let that happen! Didn't they understand that?

He tried to steel himself and physically separate the two, but in the process, Erik's hand, which had previously been swinging to punch the other boy in the face, came around and clocked Charles's upside the head.

Falling to the ground, Charles tried to think around the ringing in his head and clutched it. Pain screamed at him from the bruise that would undoubtedly discolor his head later on that night. His blood was pulsing in his ears heavily, but he tried to shake it away.

Staying down wasn't an option. He had to stop them. He had to.

He sat up and tried to stand again but his head hurt so much that he fell to the ground again from the white stab in the side of his head.

No. No, he was okay. He was _fine._ If he could just-

When he opened his eyes, not realizing he had closed them in the first place, he noticed that Lehnsherr was looking at him as well as the boy. No, not Lehnsherr. It was Erik. It had to be because the look he was given was like he had been shocked. This soon drifted off the guilt and pain that Charles could almost feel from his friend's mind.

The boy, on the other hand, just looked plain confused why the fight had stopped.

Looking at the boy, Erik shook his head and ran to Charles, tilting his head and touching the spot he hit him. Charles winced and a small hiss escaped his lips when Erik's shaking fingers met with the spot. Erik himself cursed under his breath, obviously directed at himself.

"I'm so sorry, Häschen. I don't- I don't know-"

He was going to run himself into a guilty circle if Charles didn't stop him. He couldn't let his friend go that route. He wasn't aware. It wasn't his fault.

So, Charles smiled. "It's okay. Just- Just please stop fighting? I don't want you to get into trouble, dear. I don't know what will happen to you and your mother is terribly worried. She looked so upset when I saw her. You should go apologize."

Erik nodded and took Charles's hands into his own, squeezing them.

When they both got up, he looked at the boy's face and saw complete disgust.

He was looking at their hands.

"You are both one of _them."_

One of _them?_

"Sick. Broken."

Oh. He understood now and, from the looks, of it Erik had, too. Erik gradually pushed Charles behind him. Charles immediately said he didn't need to be protected, but the majority of the argument died on his lips when he heard his friend speak.

"We are not broken. You're are just too blind to see it's perfectly fine," Erik spoke with the utmost certainty. The boy didn't take that well and growled. "I don't see why you can't just accept it. With where we are and what we are dealing with, shouldn't you be more accepting of the small bits of happiness we _can_ find?"

"It's disgusting. It's… It's absolutely wrong." Charles hadn't noticed it before but now he did. The boy wasn't normal. His skin shimmered into something resembling wood, coating his arm from his fingers to his shoulder. This was another mutant. Exactly how many were here?

He didn't have time to ponder it. Whether this boy was a mutant or not, he intended to do harm. Erik's ability made him able to bend metal but that would have no effect on the boy. Charles himself was absolutely drained so he couldn't help much either.

The room was quiet, waiting with bated breath as to what they would do.

But before the disgusted boy took a step forward, soldiers spilled in and surrounded them. The boy tried to hide his mutation but it was too late. The soldiers took him away without a second glance at Erik and Charles. It happened so fast that it was like he hadn't existed to begin with.

The crowd slowly dispersed and Erik didn't hesitate to lead Charles back to where Albert and his mum were. While he was apologizing repeatedly, Charles noticed that Stephan had joined the duo and was now looking at Charles thoroughly. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine," he lied. Stephan rolled his eyes and scoffed before sitting next to Charles and taking his head in his hands.

"You have gotten worse at lying, Charles. It's tragic. Luckily for you, I've gotten better at using my healing factor on other people so let's see what we can do about your head, huh?"

Prodding gently, he found the spot Charles had been hit and hummed, focusing intently and gradually the pain simmered to nothing. Even when Charles prodded the spot with his fingers, he felt no bruise. It was truly something.

"Thanks," Charles offered a smile and Stephan shrugged.

"No problem. Just. Talk to us more, yeah? We understand you feel awful for how things went, but we all feel that way. We all failed! I know you lost your mum," he said this quietly. "But you still have us! We can be your family. Like the Rebellion was for me."

Charles felt tears come up but nodded.

"Good. Now, all we gotta do is stop Erik from starting fights and survive this place." He laughed a little. "Should be easy!"

Albert, who heard this, nudged Stephan's shoulder and complained about him taking things too lightly. Stephan merely grinned brightly, clearly taking joy in his friend's distress. Charles chuckled at the display. It was obvious they had gotten closer which was nice.

In this place, having a friend was better than having no one at all.

While Erik continued to apologize to his mum, Charles gazed at the multitude of faces that either spared them with curiosity or disgust. He thought of Dr. Mengele again and his newly found fascination with mutants. He thought about what might have happened to Erik. What might actually happen to that boy that was just taken away.

It was frightening.

At first, he thought he would have to be the only one to be careful.

But now, he realized that they all needed to be careful.

Which was a lot easier said than done.

**Author's Note:**

> So... (waits anxiously) This is the first chapter! I am not that good at writing at all and I have read more fanfiction than I have ever written in my history of fanfiction, but I hope it wasn't too awful? It's not easy writing children and I hope to get better. If it makes things easier, Charles is maybe 15 and Erik 17 ish? I don't know if I will post another chapter yet haha.. I kind of want to see if there is anyone who really likes the first chapter. I'm sorry for my crappy writing. ^^"
> 
> I hope you all have a nice day! :)


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